


The Dropship

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 100
Words: 63,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles cross-posted to tumblr.  (Earth Monitoring Station was getting too long, so I made a new one.  But this collection will function the same way as Earth Monitoring Station.)</p><p>There will probably be smut and crackships involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Doesn't Tear You Apart Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so that new Adele song is beautiful but also just a tad creepy. So on this dreary October day, enjoy a little mini ghost story inspired by Adele’s Hello. (Title from that song).

He watched.

At first, he wasn’t sure what was happening.  One moment he was tied to a stake and there Clarke was, saying the words he had been dying to hear for weeks.  And that was ironic (or maybe it wasn’t) because he was about to die,  all for a mistake that no one seemed to understand.

But then the next moment the fear was gone and he was watching her walk away, blood dripping from the knife she had slipped between his ribs.

So he watched as she tried not to crumble, and he watched as Raven did, falling to pieces into  _his_  arms.  He had never liked Bellamy much, and now Bellamy was filling the role he once did, loving both of those women in such different ways.  Sometimes he felt like Clarke was looking at him, and her words—  _why, I didn’t have a choice, love is weakness_ — seemed like they were meant for him.  But he was still dumb, numb from the immensity of what had happened, from the pain he had been expecting to face.

So he stayed silent, but still he watched.

He watched as Clarke turned to the woman who ordered his death for strength and then for comfort, and he watched as Raven buried her pain so deep it was like he had never even existed in the first place.

He watched as Clarke slaughtered the Mountain Men, and he watched her break Bellamy’s heart by walking away.

But then his presence seemed to slip, and suddenly he was no longer watching everything.  The steady stream of time became jumps and starts, and one moment Clarke was sitting in the woods, shivering and crying, and the next she was at the sea, smiling sadly at a Grounder woman.  He watched in fits and starts as Clarke started a new life by the sea, and he was there when Bellamy strode out of the dunes, anger burning in his dark eyes when he found her laughing at the shore.

Then she was home, back with their people.  She was still arguing with Bellamy but now it seemed more familiar, like those last few days at the dropship when she abruptly began turning to Bellamy instead of him.  Sometimes something like a smile would cross her face before she snapped at him, and a spark of laughter would ignite in Bellamy’s eyes in response.

More than anything, he wanted to apologize.  He wanted to apologize for breaking her heart and he wanted to make her see that he never meant to hurt her.  He wanted to ask if she could ever forgive him, if she could ever understand that he had done those things for her.  

But she wasn’t looking for him anymore.  

So instead he watched.


	2. Drive Me Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for a Drive Me Crazy AU. The first of 4-5 parts.

“You.  We need to talk,” Clarke Griffin announced without preamble as she slid into the seat across from him.

 

“About what?” Bellamy grumbled, discomfited by her sudden appearance.  He hadn’t spoken to Clarke in ten years, not since they had that screaming fight in his backyard about whether or not a third grader was too young to be best friends with a fifth grader.  She had run home in a storm of tears and Bellamy had felt guilty almost instantly, but that night his mother announced they were moving in with his grandmother, effective immediately, and he didn’t have the courage to face Clarke’s wrath just yet.  So instead he left and assumed he would never see her again until last fall when she showed up on Arcadia University’s leafy campus, an art major with distractingly pretty eyes.  But either she didn’t recognize him or still hated him, because up until this very moment, she had never so much as acknowledged him.

 

“Your ex.  Echo.”

 

“What about her?”

 

“She’s on the hockey team, right?”

 

Bellamy took a sip of his coffee, stalling for time.  “She is.”

 

“I thought so.  I have a plan, but first I’m going to have to take you shopping.”

 

He raised an eyebrow.  “Planning on letting me in on this plan, princess?  Or am I just expected to do your bidding without question?”

 

“You want her back, right?  Echo?”  

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh.  “Whatever.  You clearly want her back, because you sit here, at this exact table— or that one over there, if this one is taken— every day at the exact time she walks past this spot on her way to practice.  And then you give her this fake-friendly wave, like you’re not dying to be back with her, but you totally are.”

 

“And you know this because what, you’re stalking me?”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes again.  “No, I know this because I sit at _that_ table over there at this exact time every day when my ex walks down to the rink for practice, and give her a pathetic fake-friendly wave because I’m in the same damn position you’re in.”

 

“So?”

 

Clarke gave him an annoyed look he had known very, very well from the ages of six to ten.  “So, we’re going to pretend we’re together to make them jealous.  But first I’m buying you new clothes, because...yuck.”

 

Now it was Bellamy’s turn to look annoyed.  “The fuck is wrong with my clothes?”

 

“Nothing, if you’re going for _Massive Dork with No Fashion Sense._  Besides, trust me— women notice when you start dressing up.  Especially when you start dressing up for someone else.”

 

“You’re assuming I want to get back together with her, though.”

 

“Bellamy, please.  I know you.  I know that look you get when you want something you can’t have, but right now, you’re in luck because I can make her want you back.  And in turn, you’re going to make my ex want me back.  So, win-win.  But seriously, first we’re going shopping so grab your shit and let’s go.”

 

Bellamy decided to stop fighting her, as he knew from experience a determined Clarke almost always got what she wanted.  Besides, she was right.  “But the girls haven’t walked past to practice yet.”

 

Clarke smirked.  “They haven’t.  But if you get your stuff and we go right now, they’ll see us leaving.  Together.”

 

“You’re an evil genius, aren’t you?”

 

“Did you ever doubt that?  Come on.  We’re going shopping.”

 

 


	3. Drive Me Crazy II

“Try these on,” Clarke ordered, handing him a stack of shirts.  “And before you whine about how much they cost, I’m buying.”  She shoved him into a fitting room and shut the door.  “And I’ll go find some jeans.”

Bellamy had just managed to shed his ratty t shirt when she threw open the door again.  She froze, her eyes glued to his currently-bare chest, and Bellamy swallowed a grin.  “Um, yeah, anyway.  These jeans too.  Pick a couple and I’ll go find one or two nice shirts.”  Her ears were pink as she turned to go, but by the time she came back (and knocked) she seemed to have recovered.

“What do I need a nice shirt for?  We’re just going to be sitting at a coffee shop,” he protested.

“It needs to look real.  So mostly we’ll sit at Grounders and pretend to study together, but we should probably go out on a few real dates too.”

“Right.  And how are we supposed to know each other?”

Clarke sent him a withering look.  “We lived on the same block growing up and we were best friends until your mom got sick and you moved.  We reconnected here.  It’s the truth, so it’s extra believable.”

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck.  “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

“For what, moving?”

“For…for the fight.”

“Fight?”

“The last time I saw you.  We fought.”

“We fought all the time.”

“Yeah, but…I left.  Without saying I’m sorry, or goodbye.”

“My mom told me when I got home that day that you were moving,” she said with a sad smile.  “And I was too pissed at you to say goodbye, so I didn’t come over.  I always felt bad about that.”

“If you felt so bad, why did it take a year for you to apologize?” he teased.

Clarke laughed.  “At first, I didn’t recognize you.  And then when I did, I thought you might not recognize me, and…I mean, it was forever ago.  We were kids.”

“You were my best friend,” he said quietly.

Something soft crossed her face but then she grinned.  “And when I get you your girlfriend back, you’re gonna love me.”


	4. Drive Me Crazy III

“What are you drawing?” Bellamy asked as Clarke pinned down the pages of her sketchbook against the late-October breeze.

 

“Nothing,” she muttered.

 

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, and before she could stop him he plucked it from the table.  “As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure that’s me.”  He kept his tone light, even though for a split second his heart threatened to stop beating.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself.  We’re working on human anatomy and you just happen to have a jaw most men would kill for, okay?  And don’t pretend like you don’t know that, because we both know you do.”

 

Bellamy preened for a moment.  “I do, don’t I?”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes and grabbed her sketchbook back.  “Shut up.  Anyway, what did Echo want the other day?”

 

“She was wondering if she’d left a sweatshirt in my room.”  Clarke had been over the night before to watch a movie, and when Bellamy’s phone rang with Echo’s face illuminated on his screen, she’d grabbed it and answered with a cheery _Bellamy’s phone!_ before handing it over and slipping out to give him some privacy.  He had to admit— Clarke really was an evil genius when it came to this stuff.

 

“Did she?”

 

“No.  I checked, but I couldn’t find anything.”

 

Clarke grinned.  “Excellent.  What did you talk about once the pretense was over?”

 

“She wanted to know how I was.  Just small talk.”

 

“It’s working,” Clarke squealed.  “I knew it.”

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I think she was just looking for her sweatshirt.  Any movement with Lexa?”

 

Clarke’s good mood evaporated.  “No.  I think she’s getting back together with Costia.  They were together for forever before we dated, and Costia’s on the team with her.”  She straightened.  “But this week is a bye week for them, so I think it’s time we step it up.  How do you feel about a date night Saturday?  We could get dressed up and go to Indra’s for dinner.”

 

“How will they know about it?”

 

“Facebook, duh.  And Instagram.  I’ll be documenting it extensively.  Trust me, they’ll see.”

 

Bellamy grinned at her because he did— he trusted her.

 

And maybe more.


	5. Drive Me Crazy IV

“Come on loser.  Your hair looks fine.  Let’s go,” Clarke called, snapping her fingers impatiently.

“What’s your hurry?” he grumbled.  “It’s just a fucking house party.”

“A house party where our exes are guaranteed to be in attendance.  So we have to make the most of it,” she said as he grabbed his jacket and followed her out into the cold November night.  Both Echo and Lexa had RSVP’ed to the women’s soccer team’s house party on facebook, which meant he and Clarke were going too.  

Clarke had posted photos of nearly every step of their date last weekend, plus a selfie while they kissed.  Echo had liked that one, which didn’t give him the spike of adrenaline he’d expected.  Instead, he just felt…sad.  The kiss was awkward for several reasons, partly because Clarke insisted they hold the pose for five different shots, but mostly because there was a part of him that wished it was real.

He wished it was real, but Clarke didn’t.  In fact, she seemed to have doubled her efforts to get Lexa and Echo to notice them.  She leaned in to him as they approached the house, music and people already spilling out onto the lawn.  Bellamy’s heart grew heavy as he wrapped his arm around her, because he was suddenly— or maybe not so suddenly— sick of the charade.  He didn’t care if Echo wanted him back anymore, because he didn’t want her either.  He wanted Clarke, but she didn’t want him, and honestly, it sucked.

To make matters worse, the moment they entered the party Clarke shrugged out of her jacket to reveal a tiny little black shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  Bellamy’s mouth went dry and she turned and winked at him.  “Hey B,” Echo said from his side and Clarke slipped into the crush of people with a knowing smile.

“Oh, uh, hey.  How’s it going?”

“Good.  Your new girlfriend is a knockout,” Echo observed.  There was no jealousy in her tone, however, and Bellamy found himself smiling back.

“Clarke’s pretty great, yeah,” he agreed.  “How’s the team looking this year?”

Echo shrugged.  “If Lexa and Costia can get their shit together, I’m pretty sure we’d be unstoppable.  But they haven’t decided if they’re dating or just fucking, so right now it’s a goddamn mess.”  She waved to someone on the other side of the room and then turned back to him.  “Looks like I need to go switch the kegs, but it’s good to see you, B.  Glad you’re happy,” she said as she left.

He fought his way through the crowd until he found Clarke downing jello shots with Raven.  “Hey, can we talk?” he murmured in her ear.  He felt a little bad bailing on their plan, but he couldn’t do it anymore.

Instead of responding, Clarke spun around and kissed him full on the mouth.


	6. The Delinquents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like writing some Raven/Bellamy sex-friends, so here you go. I might turn this into an ongoing series with multiple pairings like Griffin’s Anatomy, if anyone’s interested.

“So how long are you in town?” Raven asked, her skin shining with sweat.

“We’ve got a show tonight and then one tomorrow, and then an overnight bus to…somewhere,” Bellamy said, balling up the condom in a tissue and tossing it in the garbage.

Raven swung her legs off the bed.  “Any crazy fan stories this tour?”

“One group of girls showed up with homemade body pillows of each of us but nothing too insane,” Bellamy said.  “And where’s the fire?  I’ve got at least an hour before rehearsal.”

“I’ve got a booking at the studio this afternoon,” she said, shimmying back into her underwear.

“They any good?”

Raven shrugged.  “Two dudes doing some experimental electronica stuff.  I hate their sound, but they’re fun so I’m doing them a solid.  What’s your call time tomorrow?”

“Five.”

She pulled her hoodie on and tipped her head back to redo her ponytail.  “Why don’t you swing by the studio around noon?  I’m not recording anyone tomorrow, so we can work on your solo stuff and then you can fuck me again.”

“Cute,” Bellamy deadpanned.

“Whatever, you love it,” she grinned.  “Break a leg tonight, okay?”

“See you tomorrow,” he said, returning her smile.  Raven let herself out of his hotel room and Bellamy dragged himself out of bed to shower.  He would have to plan a route to her studio tomorrow that would shrug off any fans or paparazzi that tried to tail him, because if any tabloids got wind of the fact that he was fuck buddies with his bandmate’s ex girlfriend, the ensuing PR storm could sink him.  His band might be called The Delinquents, but they had a carefully crafted persona to make sure they were only dangerous in a way that appealed to girls ages 11-15 and his arrangement with Raven would just piss off their management.   What they had was complicated– half best friends, half sex friends, and zero emotional attachment.  Well, that wasn’t strictly true because he cared about her and she cared about him, but neither of them were pretending it was anything more than what it was, and what it was was sex whenever he was in town and goofy texts whenever he wasn’t.

Bellamy threw on the set of clothes their manager had chosen for his walk from the hotel to the bus, nodded to Finn as he emerged from his hotel room across the hall, and braced himself for the onslaught of screaming fans with thoughts of Raven still lingering in his mind.


	7. Why Did I Punch Him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lovemelikesunday asked for "Why did I have to punch that guy?" with Clarke doing the punching.

Clarke didn’t even stop to think.  She heard the voices, Bellamy’s raised above the din of the bar, and then she heard the punch, fist meeting flesh and bone, and then she was moving, pushing her way through the crowd with her fists clenching.  She shoved herself between Bellamy and the man he was shouting at and threw her hardest right hook right into the man’s jaw.  The man backed up, rubbing his chin and raising his other arm in a sign of surrender, and Bellamy wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her back.  “Clarke, stop,” he growled in her ear.  “Stop,” he said again as she struggled against his grip.

Bellamy dragged her out into the back alley, the scent of garbage rising to her nose.  “So who did I just punch?” she asked, sucking on her aching knuckles.

A bruise bloomed on his cheek in the flickering neon light.  “Octavia’s new boyfriend.”

“What’d he do to her?”

He looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.  “It’s complicated.”

“He cheat on her?  Got a secret family?  What?”

“He’s…old.”

Clarke furrowed her brow, trying to remember the face of the man she’d just sucker punched.  “How old?”  She’d only gotten a glimpse of him, but he didn’t look much older than Bellamy.  A sick feeling started to settle in her belly, and Bellamy’s shifty manner did nothing to soothe it.  “How old, Bellamy?  Because I swear to god, if I punched someone because you’re being your usual overprotective self, I’ll—”

“I never told you to get involved,” he interrupted.

“He punched you,” Clarke pointed out.  “You know I’m going to get involved.  What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t defend you when you’re attacked unprovoked?”  Bellamy’s eyes darted away from her again and she frowned.  “Except it wasn’t unprovoked, was it?”

“I might have shoved him first.  She’s only nineteen, Clarke.  He’s twenty-five.”

“How did they meet?” she asked.  Bellamy mumbled something and Clarke rolled her eyes.  “How did they meet?” she said again, louder this time.

“He’s in her MMA class.”

“So he’s her student?”

Bellamy kicked a rock and sent it skittering across the puddles.  “Yeah.”

“He’s her student, they’re all of six years apart, and she’s a legal adult?  Sounds like she’s the sketchy one, not him.”  A muscle in his jaw fluttered and Clarke sighed.  “I’m going to go find him and apologize.”

And that was how Clarke met her eventual future brother-in-law: standing in front of a bar, apologizing for punching him on behalf of her eventual future husband.


	8. Drive Me Crazy V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 of 5

Bellamy’s body reacted before his brain did, slipping his fingers into her hair and drawing her closer.  Her tongue moved against his but then he realized what was happening and wrenched himself away.  “We need to talk,” he said again, his throat thick and tight.

 

Clarke smiled, but it seemed forced.  “Sorry, I thought I’d up the stakes a little.  What’s up?”

 

He wrapped his fingers around her arm and towed her into a deserted bedroom.  “I...I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said once the door closed and the pounding music quieted a little.

 

Clarke’s face fell.  “Got it.  Sorry again, I just...well, never mind what I thought.  So you’re back together?”

 

“Who, me and Echo?  No,” he said.  “No, I just don’t want to do this anymore.  Pretend, I mean.”

 

She swallowed thickly.  “Okay, got it.  Cool.  Sorry, won’t happen again.”

 

Bellamy ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.  He was usually so good with words but right now, they were failing him miserably.  “I meant pretend with you.  I can’t, and I know that’s not what you want, but…” he sighed and looked away.  “I hope you get Lexa back.  I do.  I’m sorry but I can’t anymore,” he said and rushed out of the room.

 

He was picking through the pile of jackets to find his when Clarke found him.  “You’re terrible at explaining yourself,” she said with a wry grin.  “I’m still not sure what went wrong.”

 

“I like you, okay?” he shouted over the music.  “I like you, and you don’t like me and that’s fine. But I can’t keep doing this, so I’m out.”

 

And then once again, Clarke kissed him.  He broke away, confused, but she sealed her lips against his before he could vocalize his question.  “I like you too, you idiot,” she mumbled against his lips, and he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

 

(Echo shoved them out the door an hour later with a good-natured scowl on her face and sternly ordered them to find a room.  They did.)


	9. He Can't Take It Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested tortured!Clarke.

It was a nightmare made flesh, and Bellamy had had his share of nightmares.  Her screams tore through him, tearing his insides to ribbons, ripping through his soul, and every time he rushed the man watching him, he would knock Bellamy down.  Eventually the bearded grounder got sick of punching him and tied him to a stake in the middle of the room.  Fear pounded through him with every heartbeat— the Ice Nation had executed Lexa’s last lover, and while Clarke never spoke about her time in Polis, rumors were widespread about _heda_  and  _wanheda_. If he had heard them, chances are the Ice Queen’s spies had heard them too.

Bellamy had argued against this mission, but when Clarke volunteered he found himself volunteering alongside her even though his resentment still burned deep.  She’d walked away from him like he hadn’t pulled that lever along with her and then she walked back into camp like she hadn’t nearly destroyed him, and over time his resentment had curdled into anger.

As they traveled north he found it more and more difficult to hold onto his anger but kept up the pretense anyway, snapping whenever she spoke to keep her at bay.  It wasn’t fair, punishing her like this, but he couldn’t stop himself, but then the Ice Nation rejected their peace offering and now he was here, wondering if he was listening to her death.

But then a flap opened and they dumped Clarke at their guard’s feet, bloodied and bruised but breathing.  The guard sighed and walked over to where Bellamy was writhing against his restraints and produced a knife.  “No running,” the man admonished him as he cut him free.

Bellamy lunged to Clarke and gathered her into his arms, trying to be mindful of her injuries.  “Can you hear me?” he whispered.  He couldn’t decide if he wanted her to be conscious or not, because conscious meant she wasn’t permanently injured but unconscious meant she wouldn’t feel the pain.

“I lied,” she breathed back, her voice shaky.  “I lied to them, but I don’t think they believed me.”

“That’s okay,” he soothed, tearing a strip from the bottom of his undershirt and wrapping it around the cut on her upper arm.  “Whatever you said, you did what you had to.  It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said over and over again, more for himself than her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.  “I’m sorry.  I know had to leave, but I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay,” he said honestly, because he’d forgiven her long ago.  “You don’t have to talk.  I’m here, I’ve got you.”  He pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes, willing for Raven to hurry up with reinforcements.  He couldn’t take it much longer.


	10. A broken wrist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marycontrary82 asked for pediatrician!Clarke and uncle!Bellamy.

  
“Who’s next?” Clarke asked her nurse, rubbing antibacterial gel on her hands.

“Aurora in room four.  Probable broken wrist,” Sterling told her.  

“How old is she?”

“Three,” Sterling said, and Clarke knocked on the exam room door and let herself in.

“Hey there, I hear someone hurt their wrist?” she said cheerfully to the small girl burrowed into a dark haired man’s lap.

Aurora nodded and held out her arm gingerly.  Tears stained her cheeks and the man with her wiped them gently with his thumb.  “She was running and tripped.  I know it seems silly to bring her in for that, but she’s usually pretty tough and it seems to really hurt.”

Clarke crouched down in front of her.  “Okay, well, we’re going to get you all checked out and show your…” she looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Uncle,” he supplied.  “Bellamy.”

“— show your Uncle Bellamy how tough you are,” Clarke said.  “Can you squeeze my hand?”  Aurora gave it a limp squeeze and whimpered in pain.  “Okay, and now the other one?”  Aurora squeezed with her other hand, a tight, firm grip.  Clarke smiled and gently probed the suspect wrist while Aurora’s uncle pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Hang in there kiddo,” he murmured.  He looked up and his dark, worried eyes met Clarke’s.  “She’s my sister’s kid and I’m watching her while they’re out of town.  Is she going to be all right?”

Clarke held her palm up to Aurora and asked her to push.  “Broken arms aren’t usually fatal,” she teased gently.   “Your uncle said you were running?”

Aurora sniffled.  “He told me not to, but I did anyway,” she confessed.

Clarke  wrinkled her nose sympathetically.  “I wasn’t very good at listening when I was your age either.  Your wrist is broken, but the good news is it’s just a tiny little crack and you’ll get a really cool cast and get to pick the color.”  She stood and addressed Bellamy.  “It feels like a hairline fracture, and at her age that should heal pretty quickly.  I can order x-rays if you want to be sure, but I don’t see the need to go through all that hassle for this.  And you can tell your sister that it was an accident.”

Bellamy smiled for the first time since she’d walked into the exam room.  “Can I get that in writing?”

Clarke chuckled.  “No, but I’ll vouch for you when she brings her in for follow-ups.”  She met his eyes again and briefly lost her train of thought before recovering.  “All right, Aurora.  What color do you want for your cast?”

“Orange?” she asked hopefully.  

“I think that can be arranged.  I’ll be right back,” she said, and as she left to write up the order for the cast she wondered just how unethical it would be to ask out the uncle of a patient.


	11. The Waitress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon wanted Clarke as a waitress with a crush while Bellamy is on a date.

“Just put a couple at table fourteen,” Raven said as Clarke wove past her with drinks for table eight.  “Total first date.  I’m going to put money on it being a blind date, because they look awkward as hell.”

“I’ll let you know what the verdict is,” Clarke whispered back, and then continued on to hand out the three waters and two beers for table eight.  She whipped out her pad and turned blindly to table fourteen.  “Hi, I’m Clarke and welcome to Indra’s.  Can I get you anything to drink while you decide?”

“Clarke?” the man asked, and her heart didn’t so much stutter as fall down a flight of stairs.

Her eyes snapped up.  “Bellamy?”  She hadn’t seen Bellamy in ages— not since he was eighteen and she was an awkward fourteen year old with a crush on the boy down the street.

“How are you?” He asked, standing up and almost toppling over his chair.  “I didn’t know you lived here.”  He pulled her into an awkward hug and then seemed to remember his date.  “Oh, uh, this is my, uh, my friend Fox.  Fox, this is Clarke— we grew up together.”

Bellamy’s date smiled warmly and he sat back down, leaving Clarke with an uncomfortable flush rising up her neck.  He was even handsomer than she remembered, and he’d finally stopped slicking back his hair.  The curls looked soft and for a moment, she stupidly wanted to brush one off his forehead.  But then she recovered, took their drink order, and spent the rest of the night berating herself for letting an old crush get to her.   _It’s been ten years.  Get a grip_ , she scolded over and over again, but her brain kept stubbornly noting how his eyes seemed to follow her around the restaurant.

The evening rush had died down and Bellamy and his date were long gone when Raven waved her over.  “So?  Blind date, right?” she asked.

“My sister set us up, actually.  She wasn’t interested and neither was I.” Bellamy said from behind them.  Clarke jumped and Raven looked almost guilty as they turned around.  “Sorry, I didn’t want to come right back in after Fox left.  Do you want to get a drink some time?  I’d be great to…catch up.”

Clarke started to blush again and nodded.  “Tomorrow? There’s a bar around the corner.”

Bellamy grinned.  “Tomorrow at eight?”

“Eight,” she confirmed, and floated through the rest of her shift.


	12. Coffee flavored I Love Yous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thecadencerose requested bellarke + coffee + I love you more than the first sip.

Clarke opened her eyes blearily and rolled over, but as usual, the other side of the bed was empty.  Bellamy could be a champion cuddler, but on mornings after she had a late shift at the hospital he preferred to let her sleep and make breakfast for them instead.  She climbed out of bed and straightened Bellamy’s old debate team t-shirt from where it draped off her shoulder and shimmied into the sweatpants she’d left in his room a few weeks ago.

If she’d been more awake as she shuffled down the stairs, she might have pondered the fact that Bellamy’s house felt more like home than her own even though she’d only been dating him for three months.  She’d started coming straight to his place most nights after work after a mere six weeks, and now the nights she went to her apartment left her feeling hollow.

“Morning,” she mumbled as she walked into the kitchen where Bellamy was pouring a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” he replied, kissing her forehead and handing her the mug.  

She accepted the coffee gratefully and leaned against the counter.  “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast,” Bellamy said and turned back to the stove.

Clarke took a loud slurp of her coffee and sighed happily.  Bellamy had taken to teasing her about how much she looked forward to the first sip of coffee, so now she always made a show of it for him.  “God, I love you,” she muttered.

“Who, me or your coffee?” Bellamy teased, but then his shoulders tensed up and the full import of their words hit them both.

On the one hand, Clarke’s practical side told her it was too early to say it; it had only been a few months, and even though they were almost living together it felt sudden.  But on the other hand, there was a part of her that had been wanting to say it for weeks, abruptness be damned.  “Both,” she said decisively, her heart hammering in her ears.

Bellamy set down the spatula carefully and spun around, slow and deliberate.  For half a second, she worried he was going to tell her it was too soon, but then he caught her in his arms and kissed her hard.  “I love you too,” he whispered, and Clarke set down her mug to twine her arms around his neck.  

The eggs were burning, but she didn’t give a damn.


	13. The ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon wanted Clarke borrowing Bellamy's car. This isn't *quite* that, but it's close. Ish.

_Octavia Blake_

_11:32am_

_Big favor.  Remember Clarke?_

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:33am_

_Your bossy friend from high school?_

_Octavia Blake_

_11:33am_

_Would you call her bossy if she was a guy?_

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:33am_

_Fair enough.  What about her?_

_Octavia Blake_

_11:34am_

_She just started med school up near you and her car broke down.  She said on facebook that she needs a ride home for Christmas and since you’ll be driving home…._

_Octavia Blake_

_11:34am_

_I just heard you sigh heavily all the way over here_

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:34am_

_Let her know I can’t leave until the evening of the 22nd when my students’ final is over and send me her number._

 

Snow was already falling by the time Bellamy pulled up in front of Clarke’s brick four story building, and she darted out from the foyer and threw her suitcase in the trunk before he had time to do much more than open his door, so he ducked back into the car and off they went, the windshield wipers slashing pointlessly at the flakes.

They rode in silence (what was he supposed to say to her?  She was basically a stranger) for the most part and Bellamy gripped the steering wheel tightly as the snow picked up and traffic slowed to a crawl.  The blue light of her phone lit up her face and she swore under her breath.  “They’re closing the freeway up ahead,” she said just as Bellamy saw the first glimpse of red and blue police lights flashing near the next off ramp.

Bellamy groaned and slowly guided the car down the off ramp and Clarke pointed to a hotel sign just ahead.  “It’s late— let’s just stay there and try again tomorrow morning,” she suggested.  Bellamy definitely hadn’t budgeted for a night in a hotel but Clarke was right— it was already after midnight, and there was no telling when the freeway would reopen.  So he grudgingly parked and followed her into the hotel, brushing snow from his hair when the doors opened.  There was already a long line of disgruntled travelers in front of them, so when Clarke pulled out her credit card, sighed, and announced they’d take one room with two beds, Bellamy didn’t even flinch.  

But the next morning, when the snow was still coming down with no end in sight and the freeway was still closed, Bellamy started to panic a little.  He had managed the night before with awkward silences in the car and even more awkward grunts and nods as they traded off using the bathroom before bed, but now he was faced with spending an entire day with a woman he barely knew.  If she wasn’t Octavia’s childhood friend he probably would have hit on her (she was pretty and what else were they going to do?), but the aforementioned friendship made him reluctant to do so.

Clarke disappeared shortly after breakfast (waffles and depressing newscasts about the record breaking storm in the faux charming hotel lobby) and came back almost an hour later, covered in snow and clutching a plastic bag from the big box store across the parking lot.  “Gotta go, O— a snowman that used to be Clarke just walked in,” he said and hung up the phone.

Clarke snorted and fished around inside the plastic bag.  She found what she was looking for and threw it at his face.  “Get dressed.  We’re going swimming.”

“Swimming?” he repeated dully, looking at the cheap swim shorts she’d clearly bought for him.

“Yeah, you know, that thing you do in the water?  Look, there’s a pool here and we can sit here and pretend to be interested in whatever terrible shit is on TV, or we can go swimming,” she said with a grin.  

Something in her eyes made the back of his neck heat up, so he nodded and waited for her to shut the door to the bathroom before quickly changing.  He could have sworn that… _look_  flashed in her eyes when she came out of the bathroom in a bikini that should have been ugly, what with the teal background and pink polka dots, but somehow it worked on her.

Or maybe he was just liking how she looked in almost nothing.

Yeah, that was probably it.


	14. The Ride (II)

In the end, they were only in the pool for a grand total of twenty minutes.  Bellamy told himself not to be That Guy— Clarke was bored and that’s why she wanted to go swimming, not because she wanted to have sex with him— but she kept finding stupid reasons to touch him (he was reasonably sure she did not need his help to get out of the pool,  _and yet_ ), and then suggested they sit in the hot tub.

She sat down right next to him, bit her lip, and grinned.

And his willpower dissolved.

Her thigh was pressed against his and that smile was still on her face, so he turned to her and raised an eyebrow.  “Am I reading too much into this?” he murmured, as the splashes and screeches of families making the most of the snow day echoed around them.

Clarke’s hand rested on his knee.  “That depends.  What are you reading into it?” she said back with a smirk.

He dipped his head so his lips were right by the shell of her ear.  “That we should get out of this pool before we get arrested?”

Goosebumps rose on the skin of her neck and she shivered.  “Definitely,” she whispered back, and practically jumped out of the hot tub, Bellamy right on her heels.

Their swimsuits ended up in a pile on the floor and the snow continued to fall as they lost themselves in one another, laughing and giggling through it all.

After, Clarke pecked him on the corner of his lips.  “They’ll probably reopen the freeway tonight,” she said, her pupils blown wide in the dim light.

Bellamy captured her swollen lips with his own.  “Probably.  But I think it would be dangerous to drive when we’re so tired.”

“I think so too.  We should finish the drive tomorrow morning.  We’ll still be home in time for Christmas celebrations,” she said, rolling him onto his back and sliding on top of him.

He had something witty to say in reply— he  _did_ — but then she kissed him again and he forgot it completely.


	15. Wrong Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marycontrary82 asked for a crackship + This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home...

Raven knocked on the door and shifted awkwardly, double checking her watch.  Clarke’s friend’s birthday party was supposed to start at seven, which put her seven-fifteen arrival time right in the sweet spot of “fashionably late but not dickishly so,” but she hadn’t seen any other cars she recognized outside, which was weird, right?

The door swung inward and revealed Wells, dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt that said  _Arcadia University Football_ on the chest— definitely not what someone would wear if they were expecting twelve people for a dinner party.  “Raven?” he said, scratching the back of his neck.  “What are you— what’s up?”

“This is— isn’t it your birthday?  Clarke invited me, but she said you knew I was coming, and…” Raven was rambling— and she never rambled— but a horrifying realization was setting in.  She held up the wine bottle she’d brought as a host-gift-slash-birthday present.  “I brought wine,” she finished lamely.

“My birthday is next week,” Wells said in that gentle, reassuring way of his.  

“Fuck.  Are you kidding me?   _Fuck_ ,” Raven exploded.  Wells lived a good forty minutes away from the rest of them, and between her student loans and Christmas presents she couldn’t really afford to waste that much gas.  And, well, she’d sort of been looking forward to the dinner party.  She didn’t know him very well, but he was just so nice.  

Raven didn’t usually bother with nice guys— ever since Finn she distrusted their motives— but with Wells she never felt like he was hiding something behind his facade of kindness.  He really was that kind, and a month ago he had listened patiently as she excitedly explained her new project at work even though she was pretty sure he hadn’t understood a word of it beyond “radio waves.”  And now she was standing in front of him, having wasted gas and interrupted his evening, because she was an idiot who couldn’t read a facebook message correctly.

The corner of his mouth twitched up.  “Hey, it’s no big deal— I made more carbonara than I can eat, and you brought wine.  Why don’t you come on in anyway?”

Raven hesitated.  On the one hand, this felt like a pity invite.  On the other hand, she was starving.  Hunger won out.  “If you insist,” she said, and followed him inside.

Raven had figured she’s stay for an hour— eat dinner, help him clean up, and then head home; embarrassed, but at least fed.  Somehow, one hour turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into it being two am and Raven was still at his apartment, sitting facing Wells on the couch, slightly drunk and cackling at a story he was telling about one of his clients.  “How are you real?” she asked without thinking.

Wells furrowed his brow.  “How philosophical do you want me to get?”

“No, I just mean— how are you a real person?  You can’t possibly be real.”  Wells made a confused face and looked at his hand pointedly, making her laugh out loud again.  “You know what I mean, not real-real, but like…you have to be a serial killer or something, you know?  Like, nobody is this patient and nice and funny and handsome and good at cooking.  There’s a catch somewhere, there has to be.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Of course you’d focus on that,” she snarked.  “But you know what I mean.  What’s the catch?”

“What’s my deep dark secret, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there is the fact that I maybe invited a beautiful woman into my apartment and got her a little drunk because I have a crush on her,” he said lowly, making her stomach flutter.

“Were you planning on doing anything about that?” she asked, matching his tone.

A wry smile crossed his face.  “Actually, no.”

“Is it because I’m drunk?” she teased, and he blushed in response.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

Raven crawled forward, putting her face just inches from his.  “What if told you I’m not that drunk?”  Wells licked his lips and dropped his gaze to her mouth, so she closed the distance between them and kissed him softly.  He tasted like red wine, and when his hand came up to cradle her jaw her heart thumped painfully.

She was officially in deep.


	16. Things You Said When You Thought I Was Asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Rumaan's prompts Wells x Raven - an AU where Wells comes down with the Ark instead of the dropship and "things you said when you thought I was asleep."

“You deserved better.”

 

Raven was almost asleep when she heard Wells murmur the words, so quietly she first wondered if she’d imagined them.  But then she heard him shift against the tree and continue.

 

“This place has been so hard on you.  It’s not fair— you deserve better.  You deserve everything,” he whispered.  Raven kept her eyes closed even though her heart was thumping so loudly Wells should have been able to hear it, but when his fingers gently brushed a strand of hair off her forehead it threatened to stop beating entirely.  She hadn’t had much contact with the chancellor’s son before this trip, but when you’re on an opened ended mission to find someone who clearly doesn’t want to be found— no matter how much those searching for her love her— you get a chance to know each other.  Even Bellamy had come around towards Wells in under a week, because he was hard to hate no matter who he represented.  Jaha might still be the worst chancellor Raven had ever lived under, but his son was different.  Good, even.  He’d taken the delinquents’ side in more than one battle since he’d crashed with the rest of the Ark, pushing his father to recognize their knowledge of the ground.  It was easy to tell why Clarke had picked him to be her best friend on the Ark, because Wells was the sort of man you could trust.  

 

That was probably why Bellamy always chose Wells to take first watch while he and Raven slept.  Officially, they were at peace with the Grounders.  Unofficially, neither Bellamy nor Raven was inclined to trust the Grounders even one inch, so every night was divided into three watches— Wells, then Raven, then Bellamy.  Raven had had to fight for her place on this mission, with Abby putting up a fuss about her leg, but in the end Raven pointed out that if Clarke was going to listen to anyone, it would be the people she loved.  And if Abby couldn’t leave the camp without a doctor, that meant it was up to Raven to join Bellamy and Wells and bring her home.

 

For the first three days, Raven was sure Wells was in love with Clarke.  After all, that was why Bellamy was searching for her, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.  But then one night at dinner Bellamy hurled the question at him like it was a spear— _you’re here because you’re in love with her, aren’t you?_ and Wells just shrugged.

 

“I’m here because I love her,” he said simply.  “Same as both of you.”  There was no lingering tension in his words, no unspoken declaration of romantic love— just love, pure and open.  Raven had forgotten that love like that could exist, especially in a world as harsh as this.

 

Wells hand lingered by the shell of her ear and Raven fought to control her breathing, but then Bellamy cleared his throat rather pointedly from the other side of the fire and Wells’ hand was gone, leaving only a memory of warmth where he’d touched her.

 

He didn’t speak again and Raven couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed that he didn’t.

 

But two weeks later, when they found Clarke alive and well with the Sea People, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him soundly, just because she could.


	17. Things You Said Too Quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon wanted bellarke + things you said too quietly.

The words felt like gravel in her throat but Clarke forced herself to say them. _May we meet again_ , she whispered in his ear, needing him to hear them.  It wasn’t what she needed to say, but words were failing her.  Everything was failing her, and speaking without screaming and rending her clothes was the most she could manage.

She hoped he understood what those four words meant; hoped he knew that she was promising to come back.  She didn’t want to leave but she couldn’t stay, and if she stayed she risked becoming even more of a shell.  She felt like a monster wearing human skin, a creature of blood and death undeserving of redemption.  She saw that redemption in his eyes, in his desperate bid to forgive her for what they’d done, but she couldn’t accept it.

Not yet.

So she held him tightly and and said  _may we meet again_  and waited for him to reply.  She waited for him to acknowledge the unspoken subtext; to yet again absolve her from the guilt that threatened to swallow her whole.  But he just swallowed and held her and then she had to leave, because staying one more second would break her resolve and that would break her.

She pulled away and turned her back on him, on her people, and still the selfish part of her wanted to hear him say it.   _May we meet again_ ; four words, that’s all, but if he said them she would know he understood what she meant.  That her leaving wasn’t a permanent solution; that he would still have a part of her, be her home.

She walked slowly away, her ears straining, but she heard nothing but the wind.

It was nothing less than she deserved, but his silence carved yet another wound onto her raw and bleeding heart.


	18. Airport security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For rumaan, who wanted Clarke finishing her alcohol at the airport rather than letting security dump it.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Bellamy said as Clarke sagged against him.

“Nuh uh.  That was good scotch,” Clarke mumbled.  “I couldn’t let it go to waste.”

“But the flask was already half gone.  It’s not like you didn’t get a chance to enjoy it.”

“‘m enjoying it now,” she said, stumbling a little.  Bellamy draped his arm over her shoulder to keep her from weaving into the path of an oncoming businessman. “And what’re you doing? What’s with the cuddling?” she asked.

Bellamy dropped his arm but surreptitiously grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt.  “Just keeping you in line, princess,” he said, tugging her along.  Their gate was a ridiculously long way from security and he was starting to have his doubts about Clarke making it all the way there.

She swatted his hand away and tripped, nearly falling face first onto the cold tile before she righted herself.  “What do you even care?” she snarled.  “You don’t even know me.”

Bellamy sighed.  “You’re Monty’s friend.  And you’re drunk.”

“You were pissed I even came to the bachelor party.”

“That’s not true,” he said, not sure why he was arguing with someone who was getting drunker by the second.  She’d pounded back the remains of her flask when security gave her the option of dumping it, but he knew for a fact she hadn’t eaten in hours and now she was paying for it.

And so was he, even if watching her stumble was doing something funny to his heart.  “Is too,” Clarke said petulantly.

Bellamy bit back another sigh and grabbed her hand.  “Just to the gate, okay?” he said at her scornful look.  She rolled her eyes at him and he couldn’t help but smile when she didn’t let go.


	19. A broken wrist (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybodydeservestea requested a part II and I'm a sucker for this universe.

It took Clarke almost her entire circuit at the gym to place the dark-haired man on the treadmill as Aurora’s uncle. Aurora had been in the week before with her father to have her cast removed, considerably more chipper than her first visit to Clarke’s office.

The man on the treadmill— Bellamy, she reminded herself— seemed to be stealing glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she was standing in line for the water cooler when he approached her. “I know you, don’t I?” he said, his face flushed from the exertion.

Clarke filled up her paper cup and nodded. “Clarke Griffin. I was your niece’s doctor when you brought her in.” 

She stepped aside to let Bellamy fill up his water bottle and he grimaced at the recollection. “That was not my best day,” he admitted.

Clarke shrugged. “Kids fall; it happens,” she said. “And she’s a tough kid.”

“Just like her mother,” Bellamy said with a fond grin that made her heart trip. She had thought she’d built up her immunity to handsome-men-with-children when she entered pediatrics, but apparently this Bellamy was dangerous to her defenses. “Thanks, by the way. For calming us both down.”

“You were fine,” she dismissed. “I’ve seen parents way more worked up than that.”

“I am usually a competent babysitter,” he said with a shy grin. “I swear. She just got away from me.”

“They are excellent at that, aren’t they?”

“You have some of your own?” he asked, moving out of the way so a bearded, burly man could get past them.

“Nope, no kids, no significant other,” she told him, hoping he’d catch her drift.

“So then it wouldn’t be weird if I asked you out?”

“Not weird at all,” Clarke said with a smile.

“Good to know,” he said with a wink. “See you around, doc.”


	20. Things I Wasn't Meant To Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wetbellamyblake requested "things you said I wasn't meant to hear" and I combined it with an idea I have for a longer fic involving single dad!Bellamy. But since I promised myself I wouldn’t start any more WIPs until my three current ones are finished this is a snippet/excerpt/what have you from that universe. I will probably revisit it (and rework it) once I’m all caught up on writing.

“So you think she’s it, huh?”  Octavia’s voice floated through the cracked door and Clarke froze.  She didn’t know Bellamy’s sister was coming over today, which definitely put a wrinkle in Clarke’s plan for a quickie during Gus’ naptime, but at least she was fully dressed this time.  Clarke hesitated on the landing outside Bellamy’s door and was just about to head back up to her place when Bellamy spoke.

“She might be.”

“She’s up for it, you think?  Being Gus’ mom?”

Clarke’s heart stopped.  “I haven’t brought that up yet, but…she loves him.  I know that much,” he said.

As quietly as possible Clarke crept back up the stairs.   _Being Gus’ mom_.  As stupid as it sounded, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.  She adored Gus and she’d spent the last three months in Bellamy’s bed more often than not, but she just hadn’t thought that far into the future.  They were happy together, the three of them, but _dating a single dad_ and _being a mom_ were two totally different things.

Her stomach churning, she shut the door behind her and sank to the ground. _Am I ready to be a mom?_ It seemed so big, so momentous, that she couldn’t even comprehend it.  She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and forced herself to breathe normally.  

But it was no good— it was too much, too soon.  There was no way she could make this decision on her own, so she pulled out her phone and texted Raven.

_< Take next week off.  We’re going on vacation.>_


	21. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon wanted Bellamy asking Clarke out and her thinking its a complete joke/ he's just screwing with her or vice versa. And I threw in a little Brooklyn 99, just for funsies.

“I’m going to kiss you tonight,” Clarke announced only a few seconds after Bellamy walked through the door.

He stared at her, uncomprehending, while Miller snorted.  “Clarke’s three drinks in.  Ignore her,” he explained, taking Bellamy’s coat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarke asked.

“It means Three Drink Clarke is overconfident,” Miller told her.  “And prone to uncomfortable outbursts.”

“I am not.  I’m fun,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.  

Bellamy took the opportunity to slip away.  He still wasn’t used to Miller’s boyfriend’s friends, but this New Year’s Eve was supposed to be the big bonding party for the two groups.  (Groups was overstating it a little— it mostly meant Bellamy and Monroe had to attempt to be social with the four hundred people that came along with Monty.)  He had met Clarke twice before, but both times they’d ended up bickering.  He sort of liked it— liked her, actually— but he wasn’t sure how Miller would feel if he ended up kissing Monty’s best friend.

At least the thought had crossed her mind too, although Monty found him shortly thereafter to explain how Three Drink Clarke had a weird sense of humor and to not pay any attention to her.   _So I’m a joke to her?_ he thought a little sadly, but then Monroe showed up with a six pack of their usual beer and they claimed a corner where they could drink in peace.  They made a token effort to get to know Monty’s friends— Raven, in particular, seemed like someone he could be friends with— but whenever Clarke walked past he made sure not to make eye contact.

And so New Year’s Eve passed the way it usually did for Bellamy, until the countdown approached.  Monty and Miller started handing out noisemakers (Raven immediately confiscated Jasper’s) and champagne and Bellamy and Monroe were forced to abandon their corner and mingle.  Clarke was halfway across the room— he double checked— when the countdown began, but the second everyone started cheering she was suddenly at his side and then she was kissing him.

And really kissing him.  Not like, joke-kissing.  Bellamy completely forgot his audience and curled his fingers into her hair and kissed her back.  Clarke was the one who ended it, stepping back and smiling up at him.  “Told you I was going to kiss you,” she grinned.

He wanted to say something— _Thank god you did, happy new year, anything_ — but he just kissed her back instead.


	22. Long Time No See (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an anon request for "things you said that I wish you hadn't combined with things you said when we were the happiest we ever were."

Clarke groaned and kept scrolling, searching desperately through her old photos for something resembling even the tiniest spark of inspiration.  She mostly sold abstract landscapes— paintings that were approachable but just edgy enough for her mother’s friends to want to buy and show off.  But lately, she’d been feeling flat and uninspired.  Her paintings were paying the bills, sure, but she felt like she’d lost the fire that had driven her to blow up her life, quit med school, and strike off on her own as an artist.  In the past three years she’d made enough of a name for herself in Arcadia’s art community, but she was itching for something more.

Her heart stuttered before her eyes even fully focused on the photograph.

_Bellamy._

She hadn’t thought about him in years, or at least not consciously.  Whenever her brain started down the what if path she’d stopped and corrected herself because she was the one that left.  It wasn’t that she’d wanted to leave but she couldn’t very well stay in Rome, drinking wine with the other ex-pats and pretending to go to art classes when her father was in a hospital room halfway across the world, dying.  She was already at the airport that awful night before she realized she hadn’t told Bellamy she was leaving.  At the time, she thought she’d track him down on facebook or something once things settled down but things never did settle down— first her father died, then Wells, and then she and her mother had almost fallen apart.  It had taken years for them to rebuild something resembling a family and by the time Clarke felt like maybe, just maybe she could contact Bellamy without being swamped by horrible memories, too much time had passed.  She found what she assumed was his sister on facebook and instagram, but no trace of him.

And there he was, smiling at her through her computer screen, frozen in time on one of the last days she remembered being unreservedly happy.  They weren’t even in a particularly picturesque part of Rome— no columns or crumbling Forums arose in the background, just a nondescript apartment building with a tiny cafe on the ground floor, with Bellamy in the foreground, laughing.  She couldn’t even remember what had made him laugh like that, but she remembered grabbing her camera and taking the photo because there was a part of her that wanted to keep him, just like that, forever.  He’d thrown his arm around her and kissed her temple sloppily, and then they’d wandered into that cafe and gotten drunk like the obnoxious American students they were.   _(You should be doing this,_ he’d say.   _You’re the undergrad.  I’m the respectable graduate student who shouldn’t be blowing his grant money on wine.)_

Clarke stared at the photo, at the light streaming across his skin, at the smile on his face that could still stop her heart, and made her decision.

**

“There’s a bidding war over it,” Monroe hissed in her ear.  “Three society ladies, a collector, and that guy over there,” she said, nodding towards a man with short, dark hair standing in the corner.  “He keeps beating anything they throw down.  I bet he’d go even higher if you go hit on him.”

Clarke pursed her lips, but Monroe folded her arms across her chest and jerked her chin towards the corner.  Clarke gave in, like they both knew she would, and walked over to the mystery buyer.  He was roughly her height, with a serious countenance and an oddly military-like air for someone bidding on a painting.  “I hear you’re interested in my work,” she said, her heels clacking against the marble floor.

The buyer cast her a searching look.  “I’m interested in the woman that broke my friend’s heart, yeah.”

Clarke took a step back.  “You know Bellamy?” she said, ignoring the coldness in his tone.

“I do.  Nathan Miller,” he replied curtly.

“You were in Afghanistan when I knew him,” she said, remembering a week when Bellamy hadn’t heard from his friend for too long and grew withdrawn and worried.

“Iraq,” he corrected.  “But you left.  Without saying why.”

“My father was dying,” she snapped, losing her patience.  “And it’s not like he tried to contact me.”

“So why now?  Why paint him?” Miller pressed.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.  How did you even hear about it?”

“Anyone who pays attention to art knows about your show,” he grumbled.  “Why him?  Why now?”

“If you hate me so much, why buy it?”

“Because he wouldn’t like it; being on display like this.  Look, I won’t pretend to know what happened between the two of you, but I will tell you this— he’s not the same.  He hasn’t been the same, and he’d deny it, but it’s true.  He won’t even say that he loved you, but Bellamy— he’s been trying to get over you for years.  And sometimes I think it worked, and he’ll be with someone for awhile, but it always ends.  And that’s on you.  So if it takes me spending whatever is left in my savings account so he never sees this damn thing and gets dragged back into you, that’s what I’ll do.”

It took Clarke several seconds to breathe, much less find her voice.  “I never meant to hurt him,” she said quietly.

“Well you did,” Miller said.

“I’ll stop the bidding,” Clarke said.  “Tell them it’s not for sale.  You can buy it off me privately next week for half the price.”  Tears were welling in her eyes.  “Talk to my assistant.  She’ll set everything up.”

“There’s no need,” a deep voice said from behind her.  “And thanks, Miller, but you really don’t need to do this.  I can handle it myself.”

Clarke pivoted slowly and found herself looking into a pair of warm brown eyes.  Eyes that she had spent weeks painting, eyes that she couldn’t ever forget.  “Bellamy,” she whispered, not quite believing that he was here, in the flesh.

He smiled, dark and dangerous.  “Long time no see, Princess.”


	23. Long Time No See (II)

_Church bells echoed down the narrow street and sent a flock of pigeons into flight.  Clarke pushed herself up on one elbow and squinted at Bellamy’s alarm clock across the tiny, spartan room.  “You don’t have to go yet,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around her bare waist.  
_

_Clarke flopped back down onto the pillows.  “I should, though.  I have those sketches to finish before class, and I can’t skip class.  Not again.”_

_Bellamy pulled himself over her and settled into the cradle of her hips.  “Your sketches are almost done though,” he wheedled, kissing the corner of her mouth.  “And class isn’t until ten.”_

_“I suppose I could stay a little while longer,” she sighed in mock-defeat, and let herself savor Bellamy’s grin before he captured her lips in a long, lazy kiss._

**

Clarke was still staring at Bellamy, mouth agape, when Monroe hurried over.  “Can I help you?” she hissed.  “Because people are starting to stare.”

Bellamy’s face was unreadable.  “Just catching up with an old friend,” he replied.

“Maybe you could catch up in the spare office,” Monroe said, her eyes revolving between Bellamy, Clarke, and Miller.  “Where your purse is,” she added pointedly to Clarke.

Clarke finally snapped into action.  “Right.  The office.  Bellamy—” she trailed off, but he jerked his chin in acknowledgment.

“I’ve got this, Miller.  Really.  Thanks, but it’s fine,” he said firmly.  He nodded at Clarke and let her lead the way, apparently heedless of her shaking hands and pounding heart.

**

His kisses were harsher than she remembered, with more teeth than softness, but Clarke found that she didn’t care, not now that he was back inside of her where he belonged.  It was like she didn’t even realize what was missing until it was there, glaring at her angrily in an empty office.  But then he kissed her like he couldn’t stand one more minute without her and suddenly, Clarke knew what she needed— and it was him.  She’d never been so grateful to find an extra condom buried in her purse, and even though _fucking in a spare office during your art show_ was probably a faux pas of some sort but she didn’t give a damn, not now with her lips tasting the place where his shoulder met his neck and his breath hot in her ear.

She had her hand pinned between her thighs, desperately drawing circles on her clit while he pounded into her, pinning her to the door with his weight.  She hit her peak just seconds before he did but couldn’t bear to let him pull out, needing him to stay the way they were for just a few more moments.  “Don’t leave,” she panted, clinging to him with all her strength.

Bellamy craned his head back to look at her.  His eyes weren’t angry anymore; just sad.  “Will you?” he whispered.  “Will you leave this time?”

Clarke slipped her fingers into his hair and shook her head.  “No.  Not this time,” she promised.  Bellamy swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers for an answer, and Clarke made a decision.  “Not ever again.”


	24. Diamond Sunbursts and Marble Halls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Anne of Green Gables crossover for Rumaan.

Twilight lingered as Clarke let herself out of the gate from the church graveyard.  She visited her father’s grave every Wednesday in honor of the man who had always dreamed of moving back to Arcadia but only had gotten to enjoy it for a few short years.  It had scarce been three months, but already it seemed like everyone in Arcadia had forgotten that the Griffins used to be a family instead of just headstrong Clarke and stiff, reserved Abigail, renting out their farm on the outskirts of town. 

Clarke paused and took in the beauty of the fields spread before her, soft yellow waves of wheat reaching up to the purple sky.  Her mother still missed the hustle and bustle of the city but Clarke loved the peacefulness of the countryside, just like her father had.  She would miss it— and her mother, and even Mrs. Indra, the town busybody Clarke had come to love fiercely— when she left next week to take the Mount Weather school.  She could come home for holidays, but Mount Weather was too far across the island to come back on weekends.  Wells had already vowed to leave flowers on her father’s grave, but it wouldn’t be the same.  Still, she mustn’t complain.  She was lucky to have the job, lucky to have finished first in her class at Queens (well, she tied for first in History, but she wasn’t going to dwell on that one blemish on her record), and lucky to be able to help support her mother and the twins.

 

Footsteps scuffed against the dirt path to her side and Clarke turned to discover the source of that blemish striding towards her, a cocky smile plastered on his damnably handsome face.  Clarke had hated Bellamy since that fateful first day in Arcadia, the day Mr. Wallace had spelled her name without an e and punished her for her outburst by forcing her to share a desk with one Bellamy Blake.  Bellamy had purposefully driven her mad that day, nudging her constantly and even tugging on her pigtails in an effort to get her in even more trouble.  She had resisted him valiantly until the afternoon, when he’d hissed _hey, princess_ and she’d snapped, cracking her slate in half and suffering the indignity of being sent home early from school in shame.  From then on she resolved to best him in everything they did, a challenge he seemed to almost enjoy.  

Bellamy lifted his hat politely, a handful of lilies clutched in his other hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Blake,” she said icily.

As always, her formality seemed to amuse him.  “Good evening, Miss Griffin,” he responded, grinning.

Clarke decided to swallow her pride for one moment.  It was what her father would want, after all.  “Congratulations on the Arcadia school,” she said, managing to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  If she had gotten the Arcadia school she would have been able to live at home and help her mother raise Monty and Jasper, both of whom had an unholy knack for terror, and she had wanted it badly.  But Bellamy had gotten it instead, leaving Clarke to board on the other side of the island.

Bellamy paused at the gate and turned slowly to face her.  “You haven’t heard,” he said, more to himself than her.

“Heard what?” she asked, her spine stiffening.

“I turned down the Arcadia school.  Suggested that they give it to you instead,” he said, his ears turning just the tiniest bit red.  “I was offered the Polis school and Octavia has decided to take a course at Queens.  We’ll board with an uncle there during the week and come back on the weekends.”

For the first time in her life, Clarke was speechless.  “You’re giving me the Arcadia school?”

“Your mother has the twins to look after now.  She’ll need your help,” he said, and this time his grin was friendly, not mocking.  “I heard Jasper tried to set Miss Indra’s garden on fire last week.”

“It was a mistake involving a newly purchased set of fireworks and a desire to rid Arcadia of snakes,” Clarke explained, a grin creeping across her own face as well.  “Miss Indra has already forgiven him.”  She dropped her gaze to the lilies and a sudden memory occurred to her.  “You leave one of those at my father’s grave some days, don’t you?”

His ears were definitely red now.  “Your father…he was always kind to my mother.  Not many were, but he was.”

Bellamy’s mother had passed away before Clarke had moved to Arcadia, but she knew the Blake siblings were followed by the dark shadow of scandal wherever they went.  “Were lilies her favorite?” Clarke asked, suddenly noticing just how warm his deep brown eyes were.

“They were.”

Clarke made a decision— momentous in hindsight, but at the time, just a simple, kind impulse.  “I’ll bring some for her whenever I come here,” she offered.

Bellamy smiled and her heart skipped a beat.  “Thank you, Miss Griffin.”

“Clarke,” she corrected.

“Clarke,” he said, and she quite liked the way her name sounded on his lips.  “I’ll escort you home, Clarke, if you’ll wait a moment,” he said.

“That would be nice, Mr. Blake.”

“Bellamy.”

“Bellamy,” she echoed, and for half a heartbeat, his smile outshone the setting sun.


	25. He's Usually There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested: I hope you write a canon-verse fic where Wells lives and everyone thinks that Bellamy has developed a crush on Wells because he's trying to get Wells on his side before he confesses his feelings for Clarke.

“Have you seen Bellamy?”  Clarke asked Monroe. **  
**

“He was headed out gathering with Wells, last time I saw him,” Monroe said with a knowing smile.

“They came back an hour ago,” Clarke pointed out.

Monroe shrugged.  “Haven’t seen them,” she said.

Clarke walked away, frowning.  She was getting sick of those looks whenever she asked after Bellamy, and even sicker of the fact that he always— always— seemed to be with Wells.

She saw her mother heading out of med bay and waved her down.  “Bellamy and I were supposed to meet to plan the new set of cabins but I can’t find him,” she said.  “Did he say where he was going after he stopped by med bay?”

“He and Wells dropped off the plants together, but I haven’t seen him since.  I’d check Wells’ cabin,” Abby said.  “He’s usually there.”

 _He’s usually there._  That was unfortunately true, and Clarke felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite for being upset by that fact.  She had spent months on the ground trying to bridge the gap between Bellamy and Wells, trying to forge trust, if not friendship, and then all of a sudden— they were friends.  Or maybe more than friends?  She couldn’t quite tell.  She knew Wells wasn’t interested in men, but she had a suspicion Bellamy was more like her.  It was stupid and selfish, because she should be glad that they were finally getting along, but she’d thought that she and Bellamy…well, she didn’t know what she thought.

Be she didn’t think she’d be supplanted by Wells.

It put her in a sour mood when she found them huddled together in Wells’ cabin, looking at a book Bellamy had found on a scavenging trip.  “There you are,” she snapped.  “We’re supposed to meet with Kane in ten minutes to go over the plans.”

Bellamy looked up, surprised to see her there.   _Sorry for interrupting,_ she wanted to bark, but she bit her tongue.  “I know— did you need me for something now?” he asked, confused.

 _Shit_.  She had assumed he’d forgotten— and okay, fine, maybe she was a little jealous— but she didn’t really have a reason to go looking for him aside from the meeting.  “I just wanted to make sure you knew about it,” she said lamely.

Wells gave her a searching look.  “Thanks for your help today, Bell.  I’ll catch up with you after your meeting, yeah?”  Bellamy stood and Clarke made to follow him, but Wells shook his head.  “Clarke, got a minute?”

“I’ve got that meeting,” she grumbled.

“In ten minutes and camp is about two minutes wide.  It’ll just take a second,” Wells said, so Clarke stayed when Bellamy left.  “So what’s going on?” Wells asked, sitting down on his cot.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you suddenly pissed every time I hang out with Bellamy?  You spent so much time convincing me to trust him, and now…?”

Clarke sighed and crossed her arms.  “He’s into you,” she bit out.  

“Bellamy?  Into me?”  Wells raised his eyebrows and started to smile.

“It’s not funny,” she growled.  “And everyone knows it.  Everyone knows he’s into you, and it’s just weird, okay?”

Wells bit his lip, fighting that smile.  “Into me?  Clarke— he’s into _you_.  He’s doing what every person that has ever had a crush on you has done, which is try and butter me up to get me to put in a good word.  Trust me, I’ve seen this often enough.”  He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders.  “And I’m guessing this outburst is because you were jealous?”  Clarke shrugged, keeping her eyes on the ground.  Wells smiled and rubbed her arms.  “Your meeting is in five minutes,” he reminded her.  “He’ll be waiting.”


	26. Dirty Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon wanted dirty talking!Clarke, and I attempted to provide it.

“This good?”  Bellamy asked, glancing over his shoulder to the packed, snow-covered road behind him.  He hated doing the traffic report, but as the newest reporter he usually pulled the worst beats.

“Shift a little to your left,” Clarke instructed, peeking out from behind her camera.  “Yup— there.  Better light.  It’s 6:27, so they’ll be tossing it to us in thirty.  And the second you’re done, I’m going to suck your cock so hard you’ll black out.  And it’s us in five, four,” Clarke switched to counting down with her fingers while Bellamy attempted to wrench his brain back to his job instead of the vivid image Clarke had just painted for him.

His earpiece crackled with Indra asking for _one last check on the roads,_ and Bellamy somehow muddled through his report ( _snow causes slow commute_ wasn’t exactly a tricky topic) and tossed it back to Indra.  “And we’re out,” Clarke said with a wide grin.  She pulled the giant camera from her shoulder and winked at him.  “They won’t need us until after the National news,” she added unnecessarily.

Bellamy followed her to the back of the van, waiting until they were safely out of sight of passing motorists before pinning her to the half-closed door with his weight.  “The fuck was that?” he growled, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss.  “You trying to get me fired?”  He was reasonably sure going on-air with a hard-on would be grounds for suspension, plus the burden of living forever in infamy on the internet.

Clarke set her camera down in the back of the van and palmed him through his pants.  “Just trying to get you riled up,” she growled back.  “And it looks like it worked,” she said, raising her eyebrow.

As far as anyone at the station knew, Bellamy and Clarke were a volatile combination— they worked well together, but were equally prone to screaming matches as they were award-winning segments.  But what they didn’t know was that for the past three months they’d spent nearly every break between segments fucking in the back of the van.  Bellamy couldn’t count the number of times Clarke had had to help wipe the remains of her arousal off his face before he went on air, but this was a new one, even for her.  He had a weakness for her filthy mouth, and while he still wasn’t exactly sure what they were beyond _coworkers who fuck and argue a lot_ , he wasn’t complaining.  Especially not when she hauled him into the van and started working on his belt buckle.

Fuck it— they had until the end of the national news in a half hour, and he wasn’t going to waste a second of it.


	27. The One With the Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lushatrocity asked: So - I always loved the London episode of Friends with Chandler/Monica getting together because of Monica's reaction to her brother's wedding. Maybe that could fit for Bellarke?

“So that happened,” Clarke deadpanned, her skin glistening with sweat. **  
**

“It would appear so,” Bellamy said, his chest heaving.

They were just supposed to be standing up in a wedding— that was all.  Sure, they were friends, and sure, maybe there had always been something resembling chemistry between them, but this?  This was not supposed to happen.

Bellamy was supposed to stand behind his sister and hold her flowers when she exchanged the rings that Clarke handed to Lincoln, and they were each supposed to give a toast to the happy couple.  That was all.  They weren’t supposed to slip away from the wedding immediately after Octavia and Lincoln left, and they definitely weren’t supposed to tear each other’s clothes off in the large, ocean-front suite Clarke had booked.

But even if all that had happened (and it had, it definitely, 100% had), it was supposed to be a one-time thing.

It wasn’t supposed to be something they did every night for the rest of their week-long stay in Hawaii, lying to their friends’ faces every single evening about their plans, and waking up early so Bellamy could sneak back to his room before anyone woke up.  They had had a couple of close calls— Raven did her six am run every single morning, hangovers be damned, and Monty was really, really bad at reading hints when Clarke was trying to hurry him out of her room (because Bellamy was hiding on the balcony, completely naked)– but so far, no one was the wiser.

But even if all of that happened (and again, it most definitely had), that was because they were on vacation in Hawaii, at a wedding.  The atmosphere was romantic everywhere they turned, so really, all they had done was give in to the ambience.

Except Octavia and Lincoln had gotten married a month ago, and Clarke and Bellamy were no closer to stopping than they were in Hawaii.  Every time they locked Clarke’s bedroom door and prayed that Raven wouldn’t be home for a few hours yet, they assured each other this was just one last time and then they would end things for good.

Clarke rolled to her side and brushed a lock of hair off of Bellamy’s forehead.  “Sooner or later, we’re gonna get caught, aren’t we?”

“Probably,” he admitted, nuzzling into her palm.  “I’d say this was the last time, but–”

Whatever Bellamy was going to say, he never got a chance to say it.  Because at that very moment Clarke’s bedroom door opened and in walked Raven Reyes. “Hey Clarke, did you take my—” she started, her face shifting from distracted to completely, utterly dumbfounded, as she took in the tableau in front of her.  Clarke pulled the sheets up to cover herself and Bellamy dove underneath them to hide, but it was too late.  Raven just stood there, gaping.

Which would have been bad enough, but then Wells’ voice sounded from behind her.  “What’s wrong? Was Clarke napping?  Since when does Clarke Griffin nap in the middle of the after—” he broke off, stopping just behind Raven’s shoulder.

Monty appeared to Wells’ left.  “Oh thank god,” he muttered.  “Miller and I were getting sick of keeping this a secret.”

“What secret?” Jasper asked, poking his head in from behind Monty.  “Oh holy shit— you two are together?”

Clarke finally found her voice.  “Could you guys— could you give us a second?  I’m sort of naked.”

The front door opened and closed.  “Who’s naked?” Octavia called from the living room.

Clarke closed her eyes and steeled herself.  She pulled up the covers and looked down at Bellamy, who bore a similar look of resignation.

“Guys, we have something to tell you,” she started, knowing that this wasn’t the end.

It was the beginning.


	28. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: Can you write something where Clarke and Bellamy just got together, and then she finds out about that he and Raven slept together once and gets jealous? (in canon verse not au?)

Raven was in Engineering frowning at a series of wires when Clarke found her.  “Got a minute?” she asked as evenly as she could. **  
**

“Surprised to see you out of the Sex Cabin.  This is what, the first time you’ve surfaced in a week?” Raven snarked, but when she looked up and saw Clarke’s face her eyes went big.  “What’s wrong?  Everything okay with Bellamy?”

“He’s fine,” Clarke said, taking a seat next to Raven.  She picked up a metal cylinder and turned it around in her hands.  “What’s this?”

“Power coupling,” Raven said.  “But I know that’s not what you wanted to talk about, so spill.”

“It’s about Bellamy— I mean, it’s about…you.  And Bellamy.”

Raven closed her eyes as if she was in pain.  “He told you.”

“We were talking, and we started talking about those first few weeks, and—”  Clarke broke off, unsure of how to continue.  Talking about the first few weeks meant talking about Finn, a subject Clarke had not broached with Raven since her return.

“And he told you we had sex.  Once.  He told you that much, right?”

“He told me everything,” Clarke clarified.  

“So what more do you need to know?”

Clarke sighed and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.  “I wanted to talk to you about it, because I could feel myself getting jealous and I didn’t want— I didn’t want to feel that way about you.”

“So you…want my blessing?”

“I guess I wanted to talk to you because this is the second time this has happened.  With us.”

“Meaning a guy is with me first and then chooses you? Nice,” Raven snapped.  

“That’s not what I meant,” Clarke protested.

“That’s how it sounded,” Raven retorted, and then her face softened.  “But Bellamy and me— that was different, you know.  It wasn’t— it never meant anything.  For me, or for him.”

“He means a lot to me,” Clarke said in a tiny voice.  She reached out and grabbed Raven’s hands.  “But so do you.  And I don’t want it to come between us.”

Raven twisted her fingers with Clarke’s and squeezed.  “It won’t,” she promised.  “Will it?”

“It won’t,” Clarke confirmed, and they shared a watery smile.

 

 


	29. (Not so) Idle Boasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested: so we know that canon bellarke are really subtle and are into eye fucking, but how about au bellarke where they're friends who talk really blatantly about sex and end up doing it?

“I got a girl’s number just by sitting at a bar and looking lonely,” Clarke bragged.

Bellamy let out a bark of laughter.  “Did not.”

“Did too,” she grinned back.  “Your turn.”

Bellamy leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms.  “I’m not proud of this,” he warned.  “But I might have picked up a woman in line at Walgreens.”

“You’re joking,” Clarke laughed, and the fizz of the beer burned at the back of her nose.  “That’s a lie.”

“I said I wasn’t proud of it.”

“Was the sex good at least?”

“Princess, with me, the sex is always good.”

“Please,” Clarke scoffed.  “Cocky, much?”

“Like you’re any less cocky?”

“I’m not cocky.  I know I’m skilled,” Clarke bragged.

Bellamy snorted derisively.  “At least I don’t have to look lonely to pick up women.”

“Oh yeah?  What’s your move?”

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Bring it,” Clarke boasted, tossing back the rest of her beer.

Bellamy chuckled and padded across the floor.  “Well, this is usually what I bust out once we’re in my apartment, but…” he cleared his throat and carefully placed his hands on either side of her, trapping her against the kitchen island.  

“I’m waiting,” Clarke sing-songed.

He moved closer and Clarke’s breath caught in her throat inexplicably.  Bellamy was her friend, but somehow she had never really noticed how dark his eyes were.  “Ready?” he asked, his voice a little raspy.  His hips pressed against hers and he lifted his finger to her jaw to tip it up slightly.

Clarke swallowed, but suddenly her mouth was too dry to answer so instead she nodded.  Bellamy’s finger traced the line of her jaw and then his eyes went a little unfocused.  His finger kept moving, feathering across her cheekbone and trailing down to her mouth.  Sparks trailed in their wake and her chest tightened.  He outlined the bow on her upper lip and his gaze darkened further.  He looked like he was hypnotized, and Clarke didn’t really feel like she was in control of herself either.  It started as a joke, but it couldn’t have felt less funny.  Her heart was roaring in her ears and Bellamy bent his head down until their breath mingled.  Clarke managed to find her voice, even as her hands curled around his hips.  “What are…what are we doing?” she breathed.

Bellamy’s hand curved around her cheek.  “I don’t know,” he replied, his lips nearly brushing hers.

She arched her neck up until her nose touched his.  “Raven won’t be home tonight.”

“Good.”  His breath fanned her face and her eyes fluttered closed.

Bellamy finally closed the distance between them and his lips found hers, hot and searching.  She felt like she was falling and floating all at the same time, and the longer they kissed the less she thought about the risk this posed to their friendship.  

She stopped thinking entirely, and when Bellamy broke the kiss to look her in the eye and gasp, “bedroom?” all she could do was nod.


	30. On the Importance of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested "bellarke + remember me: meeting after years apart."
> 
> Update: This is now it's own story, also named On The Importance of Names. Part two (and soon to be three) is now up!

**  
**  
“New Antiquities hire starts today,” Monroe said from Clarke’s doorway. **  
**

“Haven’t met him yet,” Clarke said absently, digging through her bag.  “What’s he like?”

“He’s gonna be great for fundraising.  Like, I’d put his face on a goddamn billboard if they’d let me, because believe me, he’s going to make convincing old ladies to part with their money so much easier.  I think I’m going to tell him that his presence is required at all fundraising events, so do me a favor and don’t mention that it’s not, okay?”

Clarke chuckled.  “Deal.”

“And what’s with the sweater today?”  Monroe took a loud slurp of her coffee.  “It’s like, eighty degrees outside.”

“Jules puked on me as I was putting her in her carseat and I didn’t have time to change, but I did have this hanging by the door. The fascinating life of a single mother, summed up in one ugly cardigan.  Where did we hire this guy from, again?”

Monroe shrugged.  “Tiny archeological museum in Italy; I forget the name.  He’s American though.  And hot enough to make me question my sexuality, did I mention that yet?”

“You may have,” Clarke said with a grin.  “Think you can swing me an introduction?”

“You’re in luck— he’s coming down the hall now,” Monroe said, arching her neck to peek out of Clarke’s door.  “Want me to wave him down?”

“What the hell, we can see if he happens to be into single moms with one year olds with digestive issues.”

“Bellamy!” Monroe called. “Have you met Clarke yet?”

“Can’t say that I have,” a deep voice answered.  “Modern Art, right?”

“That’s her!  She’s right in here,” Monroe said, waving him in.

He walked through the door and drew up short just as Clarke’s heart completely stopped beating.

 _Him_.

She hadn’t seen him in years— well, twenty one months, to be exact— and never, ever thought she would see him again.  She hadn’t even known his name, because, as she’d told him over their second whiskey-and-coke, _names are for people who are planning on seeing each other again._  He was leaving the next day to take a job overseas and she was just plain angry— angry at Finn for dying, angry at Lexa for leaving her, angry at her father for getting cancer and angry with her mother for not being able to save him— so they decided to call it what it was: a one-night stand.  She had managed to learn a little bit about him before they left the bar for his hotel near the airport, like that he loved Ancient Roman art almost as much as she loved fauvism and that he had a little sister he’d practically raised but most other things about him (including again, _his actual name_ ) had remained a mystery.

He was gone by the time she woke up the next morning, leaving her nothing but a note ( _Room is paid for and room service should be bringing you some waffles at 10.  Thanks for a great last night in the States.  –B_ ) and the pleasantly aching muscles of someone who had been well and truly fucked.

Except, of course, for the other thing he left her.  

Thanks to Julia, Clarke would never be able to forget the face of her one night stand, because she saw it every day in Julia’s freckles, the dimple in her chin, and her dark, unruly hair.  Clarke had tried to find him once she’d decided to keep the pregnancy— she really, really had— but “A guy whose first or last name starts with B who has a sister and now lives somewhere in Italy” wasn’t enough information to go on, so Clarke had done it on her own, giving her daughter a name reminiscent of Ancient Rome in honor of the father she would never know.

Monroe watched Clarke stare at Bellamy and vice versa while Clarke’s face drained of it’s color.  “Do you guys know each other?”

Bellamy recovered first (well obviously he did; he didn’t have _their daughter’s face_ staring up at him from his desk the way Clarke did just then) and cleared his throat.  “We, ah, met.  Once.  I don’t think I ever caught her name, though, so I didn’t realize we had.”

Monroe raised her eyebrows curiously at Clarke, but Clarke gave a tiny shake of her head.  “Okay, well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.  Or reacquainted, as it were,” Monroe said, closing the door behind her.

Bellamy smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Uh, hey.  Sorry about that.  I just, I—” he looked over his shoulder to make sure the door was closed.  “I, ah, never expected to see you again, to be honest.”

“Me either,” Clarke managed.  “But—”

“Shit, this is awkward since we work together,” he rambled on.   “But you should know I always regretted not getting your name, and I know it’s been a couple years and you’re probably married or something now so this isn’t me trying to hit on you, but just, you know, so you know.  I wish we’d done things differently.”

“Me too,” Clarke forced out.  She balled her hands into fists and looked at the photo of Julia for strength.  “But there’s something you should know.”


	31. In Which Raven Reyes is a Good Friend (Sorta)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can’t resist Bellamy and Raven being BEST FRIENDS but also being very bad at showing how much they care about each other. For @kay-emm-gee

“Saw you sniffing around Gina earlier,” Raven said, lowering herself to Bellamy’s cot.  “What’s that about?” **  
**

“What’s what about?” he grumbled, his eyes still fixed on the map in front of him.

“Gina.  At the bar.  What’s your deal with her?”

“There’s no deal.”  Raven scoffed, and Bellamy finally turned around to face her.  “What?  I told you.  Nothing’s going on.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.  Looked like a whole lot of something, actually.”

“Jealous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Been there, done that, remember?”

“Vividly.  But what’s your point?”

“Gina’s from my station.”  Raven fiddled with a loose thread from Bellamy’s blanket.  “I like her.”

“I like her too,” Bellamy replied.  “And?”

“That’s just it.  You like her.  You _like_ her.  But are you— are you sure?  After…everything?”

“I’m not asking her to marry me.  And I’m pretty sure she’d say no if I did, for the record.”

“’Course she would.  Who would want to marry a nerd like you?”

Bellamy chuckled but then grew somber.  “What’s going on, Raven?”

“I told you.  I like her.  And you’re…you.”

“I’m what?” he asked, exasperated.

“Jesus, Bellamy, I just— I need to know that you’re okay.  And ready.  For her.  If you— if you’re anything.”

“I am.  Or— I will be,” he said, his dark eyes boring into hers.

“Unless she dumps your loser ass,” Raven said, the smile returning to her face.  “Only so many times a girl can hear about Hector of Troy before she goes nuts.”

“She likes my stories,” Bellamy mumbled, but he returned her grin.  “They’re more interesting than rants about radio frequencies, anyway.”

“It’s not my fault the range here sucks.”  The grin on her face grew wider, and she pushed herself up.  “You take care of yourself, Blake.  You screw this up with Gina and I won’t help clean up your mess.”

“Cute.  You need anything else?”

“Nope,” Raven said, but before she left she stopped and placed a quick kiss on the top of his head.  “But like I said— you take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” he said, his voice soft.  “You too, okay?”

Raven hid the wince that crossed her face when her hip twinged painfully, and when she stopped at his door she’d managed to smile again.  “Okay,” she agreed.  “Later, nerd.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes.  “Later, Reyes.”


	32. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumaan requested Gina x Bellamy and nightmares.

 

Every night, it was the same.

 

The  _ thunk _ of the locks releasing, following by floating, almost weightless, and then plummeting to the ground.  Gina would curl herself around Nana and pray, but the falling wouldn’t stop.  It only accelerated, and then with a teeth-jolting lurch the parachutes deployed, but still they were falling, falling, falling, and then suddenly they weren’t.  

 

Gina’s eyes flashed open and she took a gulping breath of air, reminding herself that it wasn’t real.  Or at least, not anymore.  She didn’t have to fall again, and she wouldn’t have to bury Nana’s shattered body, the dirt unfamiliar in her hands.  She wouldn’t spend days terrified to step outside, overwhelmed by the light and noise of earth after the calm and quiet of space.

 

She wouldn’t have to survive any of that again, because she already had.  She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to slow her breathing, and contemplated kicking off the blanket to cool down her sweaty skin.

 

“You okay?” Bellamy mumbled from her side.

 

“I’m fine,” she said, and started over with her count.   _ One, two, deep breath, three, four, deep breath, five, six… _

 

“Nightmare?”

 

“I’m fine,” she repeated, but his fingers started stroking her hair.  

 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, sounding more awake.  “Sometimes that helps.”  Bellamy was no stranger to nightmares, she knew, but he never talked about them with her.  Instead he would get up and wander down to Raven or Monty’s compartment.  Sometimes there would be a knock at the door and Bellamy would slip out of bed because Harper had a nightmare, or sometimes he and Raven would climb up on top of the Ark and talk until sunrise.  The remaining delinquents were a tight knit club, marked by their experiences on the ground and the haunted look in their eyes.   _ It’s not that I don’t think you’d understand, _ he’d told her once.   _ It’s just it’s the past and you’re my future. _

 

“No, I’m fine,” Gina said, and focused on how gentle his fingers felt until the panic had resided.   _ It’s the past, _ she told herself.   _ This is my future. _

  
  



	33. Hers and Hers Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lost-girl-found-neverland requested Bellamy and Gina breaking up, and while I went a little off-book from her exact prompt, this is (roughly) what was requested. Set in the same universe as Nightmares.

Gina had never had one thing that was truly hers and hers alone.  Her clothes had come from the Distribution Center, and the necklaces she wore had belonged to the Mountain.  There was the earrings her Nana had given her on her eighteenth birthday, but those had belonged to her mother before she died.  Even her books on the Ark bore the markings of other people, idle notes scribbled in the margins and doodles on the back cover.

So the day Bellamy Blake handed her a tiny spray of white flowers, sliding them over the bar sheepishly, she stared at them like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  And it was silly, really, to feel that way over flowers— she’d seen the movies, she knew flowers were a dime a dozen on the ground— but they were hers.  No one had owned them before her, and she wouldn’t have to turn in the extras to be shared.  

She was also surprised by the gift, because, well, she wasn’t exactly sure that they were a gift-giving couple.  They had spent time together ever since the night he walked back to her compartment after her shift at the bar and then kissed her so softly she thought she imagined it, but…gifts.  She didn’t think he understood what it meant to her, but she kissed him in thanks all the same and when she saw the book in a Mount Weather compartment, she knew she had the perfect way to repay him.

Except his eyes didn’t light up when she handed it to him, and his kiss goodbye felt perfunctory.  And then he came back with a broken, scared girl and their careful balance, their wall between the past and the future, came crumbling down.

Gina remembered her from the Ark— the blonde princess, running after the chancellor’s son with a bright smile and rosy cheeks.  Everyone knew Clarke Griffin, but the feral creature Bellamy brought back from the wilderness bore little resemblance to the happy child with braids Gina recalled.  This woman was empty, her blue eyes sad.  Gina recognized the look from Bellamy’s delinquents, but their eyes weren’t always so heavy and broken.  She’d seen them laugh and sing and hug, but Clarke’s eyes never lost the look of a woman carrying the world on her shoulders.

It was a burden Gina would never understand, just the way they would never understand what it was like to be in your coffin, every breath you take meaning there was one less breath of air for everyone on the Ark, while you grieved their last days.  You couldn’t even say your last days on earth, because none of them had ever been on the ground, so you got drunk and made coarse jokes and found someone to fuck because you only had hours left to live anyway.  She didn’t know what it was like to be hunted, but they didn’t know what it was like to feel the walls of the Ark close in and embrace your doom with open arms.

That was why she and Bellamy built that wall between their past and their future— she didn’t understand his past and he would never understand hers, but as long as they accepted that they had a chance at a future together.  Clarke, though— she was his past and his future, and it seemed like everyone knew it.  Suddenly, people stopped talking about Bellamy— her Bellamy, Gina’s Bellamy, the fierce, kind leader— and started talking about _BellamyandClarke_ , all in one breath, like they were two sides of the same coin.  People started looking at her with raised eyebrows when Bellamy kissed her hello, like they were surprised he was still bothering with someone that wasn’t Clarke.

And that hurt.

At first, nothing changed.  She still slipped into his compartment at night and he held her when nightmares stole her sleep.  They still bantered while Gina worked her shifts at the bar, and she still laid her head in his lap on soft spring nights while he read.  She even met Clarke the night Raven dragged her to the bar in hopes of sparking something in those blank eyes.  Clarke was polite— nice, even— and Gina was the same, but there was little in their interaction beyond formalities.  And the looks remained, silent and judging.

“Do you love her?” she asked one night, his arm draped across her chest, his breath on her neck.

“No,” he replied, but the fact that he didn’t ask who told her more than she wanted to know.  

And then one night, she woke to a quiet knock.  Bellamy answered and their voices were hushed, trying not to wake her.  “Who is it this time?” he whispered.

“It’s her,” Jackson said, because when it came to Bellamy, Clarke Griffin never needed a name.

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“I’ll be right there,” Bellamy said, and grabbed his shirt from his desk.  

When his footsteps no longer echoed down the corridor, Gina stuffed her feet into her boots and tip toed after him.  She wasn’t even sure why she was following, but something inside of her chest was prowling about, refusing to let her stay in bed.

It wasn’t hard to find him— Clarke’s shouts could be heard two corridors away.  Gina had never heard that much rage and pain in one voice, and it wasn’t until she was near the door that she even made out Bellamy’s low baritone.  She could just see a sliver of him through the door, his hands out like he was soothing a wild animal.  “It’s me,” he kept saying, over and over again.  “It’s just me.”

“Get away from me,” Clarke snarled, just out of sight.

“Clarke, it’s me,” he said again, and Gina had never heard his voice so gentle.  The animal in her chest roared in time with Clarke.

“Get.  Away,” Clarke screamed, and something flew past his shoulder.

“It’s not real,” he said in that same ~~loving~~ gentle tone.  “Whatever it was, it’s not real.  It can’t hurt you.”

“But I can hurt _you_ ,” she shrieked, and Bellamy crouched down, his arms opening.

“You can’t,” he said.  “It’s me.”

Clarke collapsed into view, sobbing against his shoulder as he gathered her in his arms, and Gina slowly backed away.  It wasn’t Bellamy holding Clarke that hurt— Gina had seen him sprint across Arkadia to hold Harper like that the day she first picked up a gun and broke down in tears— it was knowing that Clarke had a part of him that Gina could never have.

She sprinted back down the corridor, through the maze that was the remains of the Ark, and climbed back into his bed.  She pretended she was asleep when he came back to bed, but the next morning, she waited until he was gone and removed all traces of herself from his compartment.

When people asked why, she would say _we wanted different things_ , which wasn’t really a lie, but it felt like one.

Because Gina had never had anything that was truly hers and hers alone, and Bellamy was no different.


	34. Drink Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mereditheo requested "drink me" from a prompt meme.

Clarke kicked her legs back and forth, holding onto the table for stability.  Her head felt fuzzy and light, but in a pleasant sort of way.  Bellamy sat on the chair in front of her, tipping back precariously.  He had his hands behind his head as he laughed.  She couldn’t quite remember what was so funny, but she giggled too. **  
**

“You’ve got something,” she said, motioning to his cheek.  It was a smear of sauce from the buffalo wings they’d brought back to her apartment, bright orange against the dark olive of his cheek.  Her knuckles knocked over the empty bottle of vodka next to her; it rolled hollowly across the table and stopped inches from the edge.

“Where?” he asked, wiping at the other cheek.

“No, not there,” she laughed, but he just wiped harder, looking at his clean palm in frustration.

Clarke laughed and hooked her toes around the legs of his chair, pulling him down with a loud _thump_.  “Come here,” she giggled, trying to slide his chair closer to her.  Bellamy squeaked it obligingly across the vinyl floor until her boots rested on a sliver of the chair on either side of his legs.  “Closer,” she said, and he scooted forward a little bit more.  “There,” Clarke sighed, leaning forward to wipe the smear with her thumb.  

“You got it?” he asked, his eyes a little glassy.  His hands curled around her calves and she could feel their heat burning through her jeans, into her skin.

“Got it!” she cheered.  

Bellamy cheered along with her, and then cackled when she leaned too far forward on the table and fell to his lap.  Her feet hit the ground and Clarke laughed at the way the room seemed to spin.  She threw her arms around his neck and his hands came to rest on her waist as she tucked her nose into his neck.  He smelled like vodka, to be perfect honest, and Clarke giggled.  “You smell like a bar,” she told him, pulling back and wrinkling her nose.

“So do you,” Bellamy said, his chest rumbling against hers.  “Shit, we’re drunk.”

“That’s what happens when you drink that much vodka,” Clarke sing-songed.  Her limbs were heavy, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder.  She could feel the words forming on her tongue— _You’re my best friend; I love you, I love you, I love you_ — but she swallowed them down, because this was not the time.

But Bellamy buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in, and she knew the time would be soon.


	35. Amuse Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested "amuse me" from a prompt meme.

It’s not a very conventional arrangement to have your one-time fuck buddy living on your couch, but Bellamy and Clarke had never really had a conventional friendship.  In fact, they weren’t even really friends before they started fucking, more bickering-partners-with-the-same-friends.  But then one night snapping at each other over drinks turned into Bellamy’s lips suctioned to her collarbone while she palmed him through his jeans, and then they didn’t have much choice except to become friends.  They still bickered, of course, but it was easier to get along when they knew there was the promise of sex after everyone else left. **  
**

Of course, that all changed the day Clarke met Lexa.  Bellamy wasn’t upset about it— he just nodded and told her he hoped they could stay friends— and that began the next phase of their friendship: the actual, real friendship part.  She wasn’t sure she would have made it through her breakup with Lexa without him, so when Bellamy announced he had to break his lease with Murphy ( _he’s driving me nuts, I can’t take it anymore_ ) it felt natural to offer up her pull-out couch while he looked for a new apartment.

Although, at the moment, Clarke was sort of regretting her offer.  When she first suggested it, she figured they had put that whole sexual-tension thing behind them.  After all, she knew what sex was like with him (excellent) and knew what he looked like naked (also excellent) so there wasn’t any mystery there, no insatiable need to _find out_ any of those things.

Except the thing she had not learned about Bellamy while they were sleeping together was just how often he didn’t wear a shirt.  Granted, it was probably a normal amount of time to be shirtless, considering he was a guy and the heat in her building was usually insanely high, but still— she had lost count of the number of times she had walked out of her bedroom to tell him something and then completely lost her train of thought thanks to his shoulders.

Or his back.

Or his chest.

Or his abs.

Shirtless Bellamy was a Bellamy Clarke couldn’t really talk to, and it was becoming a problem-with-a-capital-P.

It was such a problem, in fact, that Clarke had started spending more and more time avoiding him, just to avoid any accidental shirtlessness.

Which was why Clarke was barricaded in her bedroom when Bellamy walked in, ranting about— well, she wasn’t really sure, because once again, he wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt and she got distracted.  “You’re not listening to me, are you?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Clarke said, pretending to root through her closet for a scarf.  “No, I was.  You were talking about… _The Iliad_?”

Bellamy sighed.  “ _The Aeneid_ ,” he said, crossing his arms.  “What’s going on with you lately?  Am I annoying you?”

“What?  No,” Clarke said.  She spun around, but couldn’t quite stop her eyes from darting to his bare chest.  “No, not really.  It’s just— god, could you wear a shirt?  Even sometimes?”

“Why, am I distracting you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.  I mean, no, I mean— god, you know what you look like.”

“I do.  And so do you, if I remember correctly.”

Clarke’s mouth went dry at the way his voice dropped.  His eyes were hooded, and then suddenly they were crashing into each other.  His lips found hers and her hands roamed the skin of his back, and Clarke changed her mind.

Having your ex-fuck buddy living on your couch was actually the perfect living arrangement, especially when he didn’t wear a shirt.


	36. Indra's House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested: we're staying in our friend's house while they're away and holy shit these rooms are really scary in the dark can i sleep with you in your room tonight?

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 7:03pm _

_ I’m booooooooored _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 7:03pm _

_ Let’s hang out _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 7:06pm _

_ Can’t.  Out of town. _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 7:06pm _

_ Housesitting all weekend for Lincoln’s scary aunt. _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 7:06pm _

_ Where’s her house? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 7:06pm _

_ Are you really bored enough to drive all the way out to Polis? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 7:07pm _

_ I put nine o’s in bored.  Send me the address. _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 7:07pm _

_ At what point did I invite you? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 7:07pm _

_ Please.  You know you want company. _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 7:08pm _

_ You’re incorrigible, you know that? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 7:08pm _

_ Save it for Words with Friends.  Address? _

 

An hour later, Clarke pulled up in front of the massive Victorian belonging to Lincoln’s aunt.  Giant weeping willows shrouded it from the road, but a turret poked out over the tops, silhouetted against the distant lightning.  Thunder rumbled as she slammed her car door and hefted her bag over her shoulder.

 

Bellamy was standing at the door when she made it up the steps with a smirk on his face.  “Planning on stay for awhile?”

 

“I had to get out of the city,” she said, elbowing past him.  “And please tell me this place is haunted.”

 

“It’s not.”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes and looked around the entryway, dominated by the elaborately carved staircase.  “Please.  A place this creepy looking?  There’s at least one sad lady ghost and two angry spurned lovers floating around.  So what are you up to?”

 

“Netflix, mostly.  She’s paying me to stay here because otherwise kids dare each other to break into the witch’s house.  And I’m here to feed her cat.”

 

“She has a cat?”

 

“Orange tabby named Princess Fluffy.”

 

“You’re kidding,” Clarke said, her eyes wide.

 

“I wish.  Honestly, that’s the most unsettling thing about this whole set up, because I cannot think of a woman less likely to name a cat _Princess_ _Fluffy_.”

 

“Well, I brought some beer.  What are we watching?”

 

“Call the Midwife.”

 

Clarke huffed loudly.  “This is going to make me cry, isn’t it?”

 

“Probably.  But you’ll also learn the importance of a single-payer healthcare system, so…”

 

“So bring it,” Clarke said with a grin.

 

Clarke was right— she cried four times before she fell asleep on Bellamy’s brother-in-law’s aunt’s couch, and when she woke up a new line of thunderstorms had rolled in.  Rain slashed against the windows and tree branches creaked, and Bellamy had tucked a blanket around her legs.  She lay there, considering, and then darted up the stairs as quickly as she could, ignoring Princess Fluffy’s warning hiss from the third step.

 

“Bellamy?” she asked, creaking the second door from the right open.  

 

“Mmmph,” he replied.  He was on his stomach, his arm dangling down over the side.

 

“Can I sleep in here?”

 

He rolled to his back and lifted up the covers with a groan.  “Your own ghost stories scared you, didn’t they?”

 

“Shut up,” Clarke said as she climbed in.  “Just promise me there’s no, like, porcelain dolls watching us.”

 

“I put them in the closet,” he mumbled, arranging himself to curl around her.

 

Clarke closed her eyes and sighed at the way his warmth surrounded her.  Their friends would have a field day with this— Raven, in particular, had been begging Clarke to  _ sort this shit out _ when it came to her not-quite-friendship with Bellamy— but for now, she let herself melt into him and drift off, ghosts or no.

 


	37. The Guy From the Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for my take on Bellamy and Gina getting together. It's technically a modern au, but it could be canon if you ignore a handful of details.

Gina noticed him the first night he came in.  It was hard not to— not with shoulders like that— but she didn’t talk to him that night.  She slid the whiskeys across the bar to him and he would lay down cash in exchange, and that was it.  He had the air of someone who didn’t want to talk, so she left him alone.

 

It was the second night he came to her bar that she talked to him for the first time.  He was smiling that time even if it looked forced.  His laugh was a little too loud, and the way he winked at her seemed exaggerated.  “Sorry about him,” his friend said, handing over his credit card.  “Break ups are a bitch.”

 

“We’d have to have been together for this to count as a break up,” the curly-haired man interjected.  “I’m Bellamy, by the way.  Expect to see me around a lot,” he said with that smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  Gina nodded politely, but later that night when he and his friends piled onto the stage for a truly horrendous rendition of  _ Piano Man _ , she couldn’t help but smile.

 

He was cute, and sure, maybe he was a little damaged, but who wasn’t?

 

“Do you work here every night?” he asked, sliding onto a stool a few weeks later.

 

“Most.  My nana owns this place and I make good money from tips,” she said, unable to resist returning his smile.  

 

She got to know him bit by bit after that— about his sister the cop, and his brother in law, the art therapist.  She learned about his job (grad school for history), and his best friend’s new boyfriend.  Gina knew an awful lot about Bellamy Blake, but she never learned who the girl was who drove him into her bar in the first place.  Anything that hinted at his previous relationship (or not, given his earlier comments about it) was met with silence and a clenched jaw, so pretty soon she stopped bothering to ask because again, so what if he was a little damaged?  That wasn’t a crime.

 

He kissed her two months after he first walked into the bar, having waited until her shift was over and walked her to her car.  His kiss was soft and careful, but when she curled her hands into his hair to deepen the kiss he pulled away.  Something sad flickered in his eyes but then it was gone, so fast she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.

 

Maybe he was damaged, but that didn’t matter to her.

 


	38. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested bellarke + break me in an AU setting. Technically a prequel to The Guy From the Bar (chapter 37.)

“So you’re really going, huh?” Bellamy said as he trailed a finger across the packing tape. **  
**

“I have to,” Clarke replied, and pressed down the ends of the tape on the box in front of her.  “You know that.”

“I don’t, actually.”

She shut her eyes and curled her hands into fists.  “I can’t just not go to med school, Bellamy.”

“Sure you can.  Because you don’t actually want to go, and you definitely don’t want to go to one across the country.”

“Don’t tell me what I want.

“I’m just repeating what you told me that night.”   _That night._  Years of friendship and tension and half a dozen other emotions he didn’t want to name, all boiled down to one night and now that was all they would ever be.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“What, fight for you?”  He clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he’d regret.

“Bellamy,” she begged, and he softened, sinking down to sit across from her.  “There’s nothing to fight for.  I can’t— I can’t stay here, not after everything.  I have to start over, or at least try.”

“I know why you want to go,” he said, softer this time.  “But you don’t have to.”

“I do, though.  I do.”

“Stay,” he pleaded.  “Please stay.  For—” he broke off and cleared his throat, but the lump refused to dissipate.  “For me.” Another tear tracked down her cheek, and he couldn’t resist wiping it away with his thumb.

“Please don’t ask that.”

“Clarke—”

“No, please.  Bellamy— you know I have to go.  Please, don’t— just let me go.”

“Will…will you come back?”

“I want to,” she said, tears making her voice shaky.  “Someday.”

“Someday,” he repeated, failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  He tried to swallow down his anger.  “I don’t know if I can wait for you.”

She wiped at her cheeks.  “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered, and then there was nothing left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I'd apologize, but... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	39. Motivational Speeches (about latrines)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumaan requested Gina pumping the delinquents for information about Bellamy, and I am a sucker for Bellamy x Gina fics.

  
“What about the night he got so drunk he tripped over his own feet, and then told off Mbege for digging a hole in front of his tent?” Monroe said, giggling. **  
**

“And then the next morning he kept shouting at us to be quiet, even though no one was talking?” Raven added.

Gina felt a hand on her shoulder as Bellamy approached the fire pit.  “What’s so funny?” he asked, settling down so she could rest her back against his chest.

“You, apparently,” she said.

“We’re telling stories about your dumb ass,” Miller supplied.  Bellamy must have made a face at Miller, because Miller grinned mischievously.  “She asked.”

“Way to sell me out,” Gina protested, but Bellamy’s laugh rumbled against her back, and she twisted her neck around for a quick kiss.  She had asked the others for stories because Bellamy didn’t like to talk about his time on the ground and while she understood why, she still wanted to know him better.  What she remembered about him from the Ark wasn’t enough— _handsome but doesn’t talk to anyone_ was really all anyone knew about Bellamy before his sister was discovered and he shot the chancellor— and what she had learned about him since the night he kissed her felt carefully planned.  It wasn’t that she thought he was deliberately keeping things from her, but rather that he didn’t want to bring up his past.  She knew he saw himself as a monster, but a monster wouldn’t have inspired such devotion in the remaining delinquents.  There had to be more to the story.

Bellamy chucked a piece of bark at Miller, who batted it away.  “Not our fault you spent three straight weeks giving us motivational speeches about everything.”

“Like the importance of digging latrines,” Monty said from Miller’s side.

“Oh, that was a good one,” Monroe said.  

“Shut up,” Bellamy called, and the answering smile on Monroe’s face made Gina grin.  She liked how much they adored him, and she liked the way his laugh sounded in her ear.  He didn’t laugh enough, even if the Bellamy she remembered from the Ark hadn’t laughed much either.

“Don’t forget that morning he tried those berries some kid found and spent about four hours spewing everywhere,” Harper chimed in.

Monty threw his head back and laughed.  “And was laying in his tent, moaning, until Clarke—” abruptly Monty cut himself off, and the mood around the fire changed.  Raven and Miller exchanged a look, and Monroe and Harper both looked away.  

“Until Clarke barged in, threw a handful of mint leaves at my face and told me to get back to work,” Bellamy said gently.  Harper smiled, uncertain, and Monty and Raven exchanged another look.  “We don’t have to pretend she didn’t exist, guys,” Bellamy added, but Gina suspected it was more than that.  The delinquents talked about Clarke often enough when Bellamy wasn’t around, but the moment he walked into a room the princess of the Ark seemed to evaporate.

“I want to hear the latrine speech,” Gina said, shattering the tense silence.

“Oh, I can do that one by heart,” Monroe said.  Bellamy gave Gina a peck on the cheek and everyone slowly relaxed.  Monroe stood up, cleared her throat, and smoothed back her braid, and Raven handed Gina a flask of moonshine.  “Do you know what’s important?” Monroe roared, and the moonshine burned in the back of Gina’s nose as she snorted in laughter, the ghost of Clarke forgotten.


	40. Their Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke/Roan, locked up and freshly bathed, as requested by alienor-woods. (Background Clexa and background Bellarke, because Clarke has ALL THE FEELINGS right now.)

“Wanheda cleans up nicely,” Roan said, tossing the cotton towel towards his bunk.  His hair was dripping, leaving tracks of water down his bare chest, his breeches slung dangerously low on his hips.  The scar she’d given him burned an angry red on his side.

 

Clarke looked down at the towel in her hands, tinged faintly pink from the remains of the berries.  She had never felt cotton this thick and lush— there were precious few new fabrics created on the ark, only commissioned when clothing was running dangerously low.  Towels were little more than scraps up there, but Polis clearly had weavers and access to a supply of cotton.  She curled her hands into fists, the towel squeezed between her fingers and palm, and ached for the solitude of the woods.  There, Clarke could ignore her grief or give into it and no one would know, and the woods didn’t have sneering royal bounty hunters intent on pissing her off.  “Don’t talk to me,” she growled.  

 

She looked back out the window and tried to calculate how high they were— higher than the treetops, but they’d taken her several levels down to this cell, which meant they were lower than the throne room.  There was a chance she could rig something and climb down, but she’d have to wait until night fell and then somehow convince Roan to give her his sheets and let her shred them.

 

She couldn’t decide what was worse— escaping with him and owing him a favor, or staying here, caged with him.

 

Roan didn’t appear to be in any rush to put his shirt on.  He rested his shoulder against the wall and watched her, amused.  “I can’t decide why you hate me so much,” he observed.

 

She hated every single inch of him.  She hated how calm he was, how implacable.  She hated his languid movements, how his muscles moved smoothly under his skin like a panther stalking prey.  She narrowed her eyes and threw her towel on the floor.   “You really can’t guess?”

 

“Oh, I’d imagine you have plenty of reasons.  I’m just trying to decide which one.”  Clarke made an angry noise, but he smiled that obnoxious knowing smile of his and continued.  “Is it for kidnapping you?  For forcing you to see the Commander?  Or is it for hurting that boy?”

 

“Shut up,” she snapped.  Bellamy’s face when he found her was burned into her brain, so hopeful and tender.  Something had flashed in his eyes that she’d never seen before but she couldn’t bring herself to name it.

 

“Ah, so it’s one of them.  But which one?”  Rage and guilt and hurt rose up inside her chest as once again, Roan found the perfect wound to salt.  He paced toward her, and Clarke resolved to not give him what he wanted.  “I heard you screaming at the Commander— she must care for you a great deal if you lived after that.  I’d thought she sent me to capture you to spite my mother, but now I wonder if it wasn’t...something else entirely.”

 

“Don’t talk to me about her.”  Lexa hadn’t seemed surprised by her rage, only resigned, and Clarke wondered what that meant.  Or if she even cared.

 

“Did she betray you?  She does that,” he observed.  “But how much did you care for her before she did?”

 

“She made me kill the man I love,” Clarke spat, once again breaking her silence.  Roan was unnerving in the way he seemed to know her weaknesses, and the harder she tried to hide them the clearer he saw them.

 

“And yet you hurt like a woman scorned.”

 

“Shut up,” she said again.   _ We’re more than one hundred feet up, but less than three hundred.  Difficult, but not impossible.   _ The sun was sinking on the horizon, which meant she had five or six hours before it would be dark enough to rappel down the side without being seen.  

 

“Don’t bother.  Lexa will have guards checking our cell every hour to make sure we’re not attempting to escape,” Roan said, following her gaze out the window.  “But your feelings for the Commander aside, who was that boy you begged me to spare?”

 

Clarke’s nostrils flared.  “One of my people.  I protect them with my life.”

 

“Oh, I very much doubt that.  Leaders like you like to believe you’d die for all of your people, but there’s always one that matters more than the rest.”

 

“What would you know about leadership?”

 

Anger sparked in his eyes.  “More than you.  So what’s that boy to you?”

 

“He’s no one.”  She’d be damned if she put Bellamy’s life more at risk than it already was.  Roan’s slash had not been fatal (odd, how she hated him but trusted him that he would spare Bellamy’s life for hers), but he’d be weakened by blood loss and trapped behind enemy lines.  If he was by himself he might very well be dead anyway. That thought tore at her heart.   _ Why did you come for me? I left you behind to save you _ , she wanted to scream.   _ You were supposed to be safe. _

 

“You said that about yourself, and you turned out to be someone,” Roan purred.  He was close enough to touch her, and Clarke dragged her eyes to him.

 

“Go to hell.”  Roan looked like he was about to say something, but she knew that if he needled her one more time she would shatter.

 

So she kissed him instead.  It was rough, full of teeth and nipping and biting, but he met her step for step, pressing her back against the wall.

 

Her thoughts quieted, just like with Niylah.  Her heart didn’t feel like it was exploding and collapsing at the same time, and the harsh whispers of her mind were drowned by her roaring pulse and the feel of his hands on her skin.  He was oblivion, and that was all Clarke wanted.

 

He was rough, so unlike Niylah’s soft, careful hands, but rough was what she needed.  She clawed at him and he clawed back, and then they were bare and Roan was lifting her in his arms and sliding inside of her while the bricks scraped against her skin.  His stubble rasped across her collarbone and she hissed at the way he thrusted, pushing him to fuck her harder, faster.  Roan complied, his eyes still hard and his lips quirked in a smirk.  And then she was coming, shuddering on his cock while his eyes squeezed shut and then he was coming too, hot and thick inside her.

 

Roan eased her down and she turned away, stepping back into the breeches and tunic Lexa’s servants had provided.  She brushed her hair back over her shoulder and remembered the way Bellamy and stroked it, like he was worried she would shatter at his touch (and she almost had.)  Everything she did, everything she saw and touched, reminded her of one of them.  Lexa was rage and Bellamy was guilt, and the memory of both of them caused her physical pain.

 

“There’s no shame in loving them both,” Roan said, almost softly.

 

“Shut up.”  Clarke crawled onto the narrow cot she’d been given and rolled to her side, feigning sleep.

 

But all she could see were their faces.

 


	41. Mapping Runs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tachypneic requested a glimpse at Bellamy searching for Clarke during the three month jump, as mentioned by Jroth on twitter.

“What makes you think she wants to be found?” Raven asked from behind him. **  
**

“What?” Bellamy asked, distracted.

“You and Kane and Abby have been spending so much time working on that map I don’t even think you’ve considered that Clarke left because she didn’t want you to follow her.”  Raven sat down on the stool next to him and kicked him playfully with her good leg.

“We’re not just looking for Clarke.  We’re keeping an eye out, but we have to map the region,” he said, sparing her a glance.

“We can’t just get a map from one of the Grounders?”

“It’s better that we get an idea of the terrain ourselves.”  He squinted at a border line, looked at his notes, and retraced it, this time going around the base of a mountain instead of through the first pass.

“And if you find Clarke, so much the better.”  

Bellamy’s stomach jolted again at the mention of her name, but he clenched his jaw.  “She could be in danger,” he said tightly, and and kept his eyes on the map.  He could feel her skeptical eyebrow raise without even looking, and that wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right now.  He kept getting those looks whenever he organized a mapping run, and he knew what they implied but it wasn’t true— that wasn’t why he was searching for her.

He was looking for her because he had to, because that’s what they did.  If it were him out there, Clarke would be doing the same.  He knew that in his very bones, and on nights that doubts threatened to fill his lungs, that’s what kept him from screaming out like Harper on one of her bad nights.

Raven patted his shoulder and left, and Bellamy kept himself focused on the maps.

They’d find her.

They had to.


	42. Their Faces (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for more Clarke/Roan, so this is a sequel to chapter 40, "Their Faces."

Clarke let the warm water soak into her muscles as birds chirped outside her window.  After three months of not bathing, she couldn’t get enough of it.  She dipped her head back into the water and scratched at her scalp, working her fingers through the tangles as best she could.  

 

Her mind kept returning to the moment Bellamy stepped into the throne room.  Her heart had swelled-- _ he’s safe, he’s whole, he’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe— _ and then deflated when he heard of her arrangement.

 

_ “Wanheda will bow to Heda, and our people will become hers,” Clarke explained, and the spark of hope in his eyes was extinguished. _

 

_ “The Mountain wasn’t just you,” he replied.  His jaw was tight with anger, and she recognized that tone of voice all too well. _

 

_ “That doesn’t matter now.  What matters is keeping our people safe.” _

 

_ “By bowing to her?” he sneered. _

 

_ “By doing what is necessary.” _

 

_ Lexa had stayed silent through their exchange. Lexa tensed when Bellamy stared at Clarke, anger and confusion warring in his face, and then relaxed when he bowed to them both and left. _

 

Clarke submerged herself in the tub once more and tried to conjure up her rage towards Lexa, but the familiar feeling didn’t burn the way it once had.

 

_ “I am heda, as you are wanheda.” _

 

_ “Fuck you,” Clarke spat, her fingers itching for a knife.  “I’m not wanheda, and if I am, it’s only because you made me be.” _

 

_ “I didn’t mean that’s all you are, Clarke,” Lexa said, her eyes soft and sad.  “I meant I am heda and you are wanheda, because that’s who our people need us to be.  That doesn’t mean it’s who we are.” _

 

_ Those had been the words that broke her; that made her agree to kneel in front of the woman she loved and hated in equal measure. _

 

_ But now that hatred was waning, and that scared her. _

 

Roan emerged from their shared balcony, completely unconcerned at her nakedness.  “I never would have guessed you enjoyed bathing,” he smirked.  “I could have tracked you by your smell alone.”

 

“Fuck you,” Clarke said, without any real heat.  She could feel his gaze on her body and slowly, her mind cleared.  Bellamy’s anger and Lexa’s sadness faded and her pulse picked up.

 

Clarke stood and sent a wash of water over the rim of the metal tub.  She twisted the ends of her hair to wring the water from it and stepped out, feeling him watch her every movement.  She moved deliberately, picking up a towel with exaggerated care, and smiling to herself when Roan crossed the room and plucked it from her hands.

 

But instead of tossing it aside, he wrapped it around her shoulders and gave her an almost comforting squeeze.  He had been in the throne room when Bellamy arrived, had seen her turn him away, and had seen her leave with Lexa at her side.

 

As always, Roan knew.

 

He rubbed her sides through the towel and no, that would not do— she could not bear a moment of kindness, not now, so she shrugged out of the towel and tugged him down to kiss her. 

 

Anything resembling tenderness melted away when she nipped his lower lip and tore the thin tunic from his chest.  This time he fucked her from behind, her fingers curled over the lip of the tub, water splashing in time with his thrusts.

 

If it took the feel of his skin against hers to make her forget, then that was the price she would pay.

 


	43. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I don’t even know. This just…happened.
> 
> Roan/Echo, inspired by @bfl1201‘s magnificent headcanons.

He knew the rules and he knew the consequences. **  
**

He had to— being heir to the Ice Nation throne meant Roan had spent his life learning what he could and couldn’t do, and what he had to be in order to lead his people.  No one defied his mother, not if they valued their life.

And for the first two decades of his life, he never had cause to break with her.  Nia was ruthless and cold, but theirs’ was a ruthless and cold world.  Love had no place, because love was just a weapon you handed your enemy.  His mother proved that the day she beheaded a scared, crying girl just to send a message to the Trikru leader.

Roan had watched her head leave her shoulders with his face a blank, cold mask.  That was the way of the Azgeda, after all.

But a chance meeting that destroyed his world.  She was in the market, arguing with a butcher who would take her fresh kill but wouldn’t include the pelt in their deal.  She stood nearly as tall as him, her honey-brown hair loose down her back, unconcerned with the scene she was causing.  She shouted at the butcher and he shouted back, and Roan watched his guards reach for their swords before he decided to step in.

“Give the huntress her pelt,” Roan ordered, and the butcher’s eyes grew large at the sight of the crown prince.  The man hurried to comply and she turned to face him, her visage shifting from grateful to fury in the blink of an eye.

“Thank you, Prince Roan,” she said tightly.  Her bow was perfunctory; reluctant.

Roan was amused.  Few ever risked being openly angry with his family, and this huntress was flirting with danger.  “You’re welcome…?” he trailed off and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“Echo,” she supplied, and kept her eyes on the ground even as hatred rolled off of her in waves.

The name stirred something in the depths of his mind.  “Echo?  The niece of King Tor?”

“Former King Tor,” she corrected, every word coated in sarcasm and disgust.

“I suppose that’s true,” Roan smirked.  His mother had overthrown Tor when he was but a babe in arms.  Tor’s wife and children had met the axe the same as Tor himself, but he remembered now that there was a sister somewhere, too quiet and meek for his mother to bother.   _This magnificent creature would be her daughter, then._

Echo accepted her pelt from the butcher and bowed, clearly desperate to leave his presence.  “Might I escort you home, Echo?  There’s all sorts about these days; no telling what trouble lays around the corner.  A request from the Crown Prince was as good as a command, and Echo jerked her head in a nod.

That was the day Roan decided he would make her like him, simply because he wanted to know if he could.  He’d never met someone who hated him that openly before and he wondered if he could change her mind.

In the end, she changed his.

Once she realized he came unarmed and unguarded to her solitary cabin on the outskirts of town, as far from the palace as one could get while remaining within the city walls, Echo thawed.  Only slightly, but enough that on his second visit, he saw her smile and that was the beginning of his end.

She kissed him first, after a month’s worth of secret visits.  His absence in the palace was noted, but he didn’t care, especially not after he’d felt her lips on his.  They were plump and kissable, and her skin was always soft and warm.  She had scars from hunting— a long, thin strip up her calf where a panther clawed her, and knicks all over her hands and arms from arrows and daggers— and he kissed every one that first night they spent together.

That was also the last night they spent together, because the sky was still a dull grey when his mother’s guards kicked open Echo’s door and wrenched him out of her bed.

The next time he saw her, she was bruised and battered, kneeling before his mother.  Two guards held him back to keep him from scooping her in his arms and kissing every mark they had given her, and his mother watched it all with idle disinterest.  “Your family was given strict instructions, were they not?” Queen Nia asked Echo, her dark eyes cold and unfeeling.

“We were, your highness,” Echo said, and Roan’s heart wrenched at the way her voice shook.  Echo was not a woman easily frightened.

“You were to never rise above your station again, correct?  And yet you seduce my son.  Why?”

“It’s my fault!” Roan screamed, but his mother waved her hand and a gag was stuffed in his mouth.

“I didn’t— I did not plan this, your highness.”  

Roan struggled against his captors, but it was futile.  Not even his sister would look his way, her face blank like his had been the day they executed the Trikru commander’s lover.

He remembered the way the girl’s head bounced on the frozen ground and shuddered.

“Your mother was spared on one condition, and you have broken it.  You know the punishment,” Nia intoned.  Echo kept her spine straight, but he saw the fear flash in her eyes and he broke.

He knocked the guards over and rushed to stand in front of Echo.  He spat the gag out and looked at his mother.  She had no trace of maternal love on her features, just the cold mask of the Ice Queen.  “It was me,” he said.  “I went to her.  She had no— no part in this.”

“She was unwilling?”

“Never,” Echo spat, and Roan wanted to smile at her spirit.

“I was the one who convinced her to go against your judgment,” Roan argued.  “So punish me instead.”

Something sparked in his mother’s eyes— not affection, but an idea.  They had been clashing of late, and he knew she wished he had been a more malleable child, more amenable to her ways like his sister.  “Very well.  Prince Roan, you are banished.  Stepping foot on Azgeda soil will mean death for you and your lover here, and should she try to join you in banishment everyone who shares her blood will share in her fate.”

His mother waved her hand, and it was done.

**

For six years, Roan waited.  His mother would not last as queen, not if the Trikru commander had her way.  Lexa was patient in a way Nia never would be, so he survived in the wilds, hunting and taking on bounties when he could.  He heard rumors that Echo had been captured by the Mountain, but every trader had a different story— this one said his mother had sold her to the Mountain to get rid of her, that one said she’d been surprised by a party of reapers while hunting, while a third claimed he had heard Echo of Azgeda was still safe at home, untouched by war.  He took Lexa’s job when she offered it, hoping that perhaps if he could live with the Trikru he could get a message to Echo, but then she betrayed him too.

He was standing at the back of Lexa’s throne room, half-prisoner, half-guest, when her herald announced a delegation from the Ice Queen.  He moved back to hide his face in the shadows, but he wondered if anyone would remember the spoiled, selfish brat of a Crown Prince that had been banished so long ago.

And then he saw her.  Her hair was longer and she had a tattoo on her shoulder he hadn’t seen before, but there was no way he could mistake the way she walked or the way she tossed her thick hair over her shoulder when she spoke to the Commander.  A slow smile spread across his face as she talked, equal parts haughty and deferential, and when the Commander dismissed them she turned to go and caught his eye.

Triumph flashed across her face, and Roan grinned.


	44. Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> booksarethebasisoflife requested a Valentine's Day AU set in a coffee shop (in honor of her favorite holiday) and I combined that with a request for a modern AU where Bellamy is the one getting out of a long relationship.

“Does everything have to be pink?”  Bellamy grumbled as he walked through the door and set the paper hearts dangling from the ceiling fluttering.

 

Clarke’s heart did that thumping thing it always did lately when she saw Bellamy, but she ignored it.  “Not everything.  Some things are red.  And white,” she said brightly.  She waved to a departing customer and furrowed her brow.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you were opening this week.”

 

“Swapped with Harper because she has a date with Monroe tonight.”  He wandered into the back and came back tying his apron strings.

 

“First date on Valentine’s Day? Bold.”

 

“That’s Monroe for you,” Bellamy said with a fond smile, and there went her heart again.  A customer came up and ordered a mocha, so Clarke got to work making it while Bellamy handled the register.

 

Once that customer sat down (a heavily bearded man with a gentle voice completely at odds with his looks) Bellamy rested his elbows on the counter.  The coffee shop was dead with everyone else preferring fancy restaurants for their Valentine’s dates, which was why Clarke had taken this shift.  She figured she could use the down time to work on some of her sketches, if nothing else.  He sighed, and glowered at the decorations Clarke had put up earlier in the week.  “Since when is Valentine’s Day so omnipresent?” he asked sourly.

 

“Since when do you hate Valentine’s Day?” Clarke countered.

 

“Since forever.”

 

“That’s a lie.  Last year you were such a big dumb dork about—” Clarke stopped, realizing her mistake.

 

“About taking Gina out to a fancy dinner?  Yeah.”

 

Clarke busied herself wiping down the counter to keep from having to look at him.  This time last year, they were only sort of friends— mostly just coworkers who bickered all the way through their shifts, but sometime around June, things shifted.  Clarke wasn’t sure how or why, but things softened between them, and by the time Labor Day rolled around he was suddenly her best friend.

 

She’d met Gina a handful of times when she would stop by to pick Bellamy up after his shift, but they had broken up by Thanksgiving.  Even though Clarke and Bellamy had been nearly inseparable for months at that point, he’d been curiously silent on why things ended.   _ We want different things _ was all he would say, and then change the subject.  He always tensed up whenever Clarke mentioned Gina, so Clarke had learned to steer clear.  “Well, I like Valentine’s Day,” Clarke said, hoping she could distract him from the foot she just put in her mouth.  “It’s a holiday about love.  It’s nice.”

 

“It’s bullshit, is what it is.  It’s a holiday designed to make you feel like a loser because nobody loves you.”

 

“That’s not true.  Octavia loves you,” Clarke pointed out.

 

Bellamy’s lips quirked into a reluctant smirk and Clarke wondered if he’d let her draw him tonight since it didn’t seem like anyone else was coming in.  She’d been getting distracted by his details lately— the sharp planes of his jaw, the spray of freckles across his face, the way his hair curled around his ears— but even as she felt herself falling, Bellamy seemed to be pulling away.  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and Clarke leaned out over the counter, mirroring his posture.

 

“I still think it’s nice,” Clarke said, bumping his shoulder, and then made the monumental mistake of looking at him.  He was looking back, and his dark eyes trapped her.  Her pulse picked up, but then the bell over the door tinkled and Bellamy stood up like he’d been scalded.

 

The rest of their shift passed without any other...moments, and by the time the tables were cleaned and the money counted, Clarke felt oddly deflated.  She decided against asking him about the sketches, since that seemed to be the sort of thing that made him uneasy these days.  She grabbed her purse and waved goodbye without even really looking at him and headed to her car.

 

Snow was falling softly, and it would have been beautiful if she wasn’t in such an unexpectedly crappy mood.  She normally loved Valentine’s Day, and working with Bellamy should have been fun instead of depressing.  Except, well, it wasn’t.

 

“Clarke!”  he called from behind her, and she spun around reluctantly and watched him jog across the parking lot.  His boots left tracks behind him in the fluffy snow and caught in his hair.  “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” she said, in a pale imitation of her bright tone earlier in the day.  “Really.  I’m fine.”

 

He pursed his lips and looked away, like he was considering something.  “I’m sorry if things got weird tonight.  I—, oh, fuck it,” he said, and then his warm hands cupped her face and he kissed her.

 

For a second, Clarke was so stunned she couldn’t kiss him back.  There was a part of her that had been imagining this for months, and another part of her who told her she was being stupid and that it would never happen.

 

And then her brain caught up with her and she kissed him back, tangling her fingers in his unruly curls.  Snow fell and she lost track of time, too lost in kissing him.  “I lied,” she said when they broke for air.

 

“About?”  He looked as dazed as Clarke felt.

 

“When I told you Octavia loves you.”

 

That made Bellamy furrow his brow.  “You think my sister doesn’t love me?”

 

“What?  No,” Clarke said, distracted by how swollen his lips looked.  “When you said nobody loves you.  Octavia’s not the only one.”

 

Bellamy grinned.  “You love me, huh?  Moving a little fast there, aren’t we, Griffin?”

 

Clarke laughed and buried her face in his chest.  “Okay, I like you. A lot.”

 

He lifted her chin up and kissed the tip of her nose.  “I like you a lot too, but it’s freezing out here.  You should get home.”

 

“Could I convince you to come with me?” 

 

Bellamy’s smile threatened to split his face in two.  “I think that can be arranged.”  

 

Clarke kissed him swiftly and opened her door.  “See you at my place.  And Bellamy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 


	45. Leaving (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested more from The Guy From the Bar universe where Clarke returns (chapters 37 and 38).

The first time Bellamy heard the knock on his door, he ignored it.  He assumed it was a customer for his neighbor across the hall, since Octavia had a key and neither Raven nor Miller ever bothered knocking. **  
**

But then he heard it again, so he hit pause on Netflix and hauled himself off the couch.  He shuffled across to the door, fully prepared to tell whoever was knocking that Jasper’s weed room was 3B, not 3A, but when he swung the door open all the air left his lungs.

Because there was Clarke, chewing her lower lip,  He hadn’t seen her in eight months but he suddenly felt like it was the day she left and he was back in her nearly-empty apartment, begging her to stay.  

“Hi,” she said, shuffling her feet.  

“Hi,” he croaked.

“I thought we could talk?” she said, like she lived down the street and was just stopping by, and hadn’t moved to the opposite side of the country.

He jerked his head and stepped aside to let her in, wishing he’d thought to put a shirt before he opened the door, but he assumed he would be telling off a pothead, not looking at the woman who’d broken his heart.

Not that he completely blamed her for leaving— he was pissed, that was for sure, but it was his fault he waited until she’d decided to go to med school to risk it all.  

Clarke stood in his kitchen and wrapped her arms around her middle.  She was wearing an ancient hoodie and ripped jeans with a battered backpack, and she had the air of someone who hadn’t slept much lately.  “I quit med school,” she told his floor.

“Good,” he said flatly.

“And I’m coming home.  I’m sorry I ran, Bellamy, but after Finn and Lexa and everything, I...I just couldn’t be here anymore.  But I got out there, and all I could think of was how much you’d hate it.”

“Hate what?  Med school?”

She gave a weak laugh.  “No.  California.  It’s sunny all the time and everyone’s all laid back and smiling.”

Bellamy made a sound that was somewhere near a chuckle.  “Sounds terrible.”

“It was.”  She swallowed and risked a glance at him.  “I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.  I regretted leaving you right away, and—”

“You needed a fresh start,” he said, not unkindly.

“I needed you,” Clarke said with a ragged sob, and the last of his resistance melted away.  He caught her in his arms and kissed her, even as tears trickled down her cheeks.  Her mouth tasted the way he remembered and he ran his tongue along her lower lip and she sighed, and that was it.

His own cheeks were wet too, but he didn’t give a damn.  She was back and she was here, so he kissed her and inched down the zipper on her hoodie, peeling it back to reveal her tank top. She dropped her backpack with a loud thump and sealed her lips over his, feeling every inch as eager as he was.   Her fingers scrabbled at his back and she tipped her head back when he dragged his lips down the column of her neck, and then he was lifting her into his arms and carrying her over to the couch.

He sat down with her in his lap and she pressed their foreheads together.  He breathed her in and his fingers dug into her thighs while she smiled, but then he couldn’t wait another second to kiss her, because his heart was pounding in his ears and his blood was singing in his veins. He placed open mouthed kisses down her sternum, and leaned back to let her pull her tank top off.  He released the clasp on her bra and nosed down the straps.  She shrugged it off and Bellamy cupped her breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and flicking her nipples with his thumbnails.  She shuddered at that, and there were so many things he wanted to do— touch her, taste her, feel her— that he felt almost paralyzed.

At some point Clarke shucked her jeans and ran back to her backpack to fish out a package of condoms.  He pulled down his pajama pants and boxers and fumbled with the condom and she climbed back over him, and then he was _home_ and so was she.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers, her pupils blown wide with want, except for when he thought his heart might stop if he didn’t kiss her.  They moved slowly, in perfect rhythm, until she shook and fell apart in his hands and then he did the same with a quiet groan.

She rested her head against his shoulder and he cupped his hand around the nape of her neck, kissing her temple.  “I meant it, you know.  When I said I wouldn’t ask you to wait for me.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted.  He still felt bad about the way things ended with Gina.  And the way they started, for that matter.  “But— god, it just wasn’t the same.”  He’d been worried that one night he spent with Clarke had ruined him, and even though he’d been trying his best to rebuild his life _(rebuild his life, how pathetic was that?  She was a friend he’d slept with once)_ without Clarke, he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore.

But now he did.  He wanted her, here, like this.

“I missed you so much,” she said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.  “Every day.”

“How did your mom take you dropping out?”

“She doesn’t know yet.  I— I sort of only left school this morning.  Dropped off the paperwork and got on a plane.”

“Are you staying with Raven?”

Clarke lifted her head and bit her lip.  “I haven’t exactly told her I’m in town.”

“You dropped out of school and got on a plane without telling anyone and came straight to see me?”

She smiled, and Bellamy decided right then and there if he could see her smile again, he’d do anything.  “I kind of did, yeah.”

He kissed her, long and languid, and then nuzzled her cheek.  “Good.”


	46. Their Faces (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for "something in the aftermath of when ice nation attacks skaikru delegation (in the next ep) after Clarke and Bellamy have a blowout and Clarke is forced to stay with lexa even after the attack." A continuation of Their Faces (chapters 40 and 42.)

“So you’re staying.”  It wasn’t a question, and the anger in Bellamy’s voice tore at her skin.  “I thought once you knelt to her, you’d be done.” **  
**

“It’s not that simple,” she said, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of her voice.  “There’s things I need to–I’m staying,” she finished.  “I will come home, but…not yet.”

“What now?  What possible reason could you have to stay?” he exploded.  “They tried to kill us, in case you forgot.”

“Never.”  She wanted him to understand that every death of her people left a mark on her soul, and that was why she was staying— her soul was too heavy, too black.  She couldn’t bear for them to see that, so she would stay in Polis with a woman whose soul was as dark as her own.  But the words wouldn’t come, so instead she focused on holding back the tears.

“Then why won’t you come home?”  He sounded almost as broken as she was, and Clarke turned towards her balcony rail to steel herself.  She wondered where Roan was; they had freedom of the building now, but weren’t allowed out the doors yet.  He was usually in their shared quarters, but he had left some time before Bellamy arrived.  “We need you there, Clarke.  It’s not— it’s not the same without you.  We’re lost.  We need you,” he begged.

She wrapped her hands around the iron railing and let the metal ground her.  “Not yet.  Please, Bellamy, don’t ask again.”

“I won’t,” he spat, and all the sadness was gone, replaced by rage.  She’d earned that, she supposed.

“Stay safe,” she whispered, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and watch him leave.  Instead she watched the newly budding leaves wave in the breeze, even as each of his footsteps felt like a knife in her heart.  He closed the door behind him, and a tear slipped down his cheek.

The sun had sunk to the tops of the trees when the door opened again and Roan padded softly across their room.  “Your people left,” he observed, joining her at the balcony.

“They did.”

“I heard heda offered you a chance to leave.”

“I couldn’t.”

He scoffed.  “The great wanheda, scared to see her own people.”

“That’s not what this is,” she said.  He’d called her that so many times it had lost its sting, or maybe she’d come to hate him a little less during her confinement.

“It’s not?”

“I have to stay.”

“Because you have feelings for the Commander and you think that’s betraying him.  So you’re running.  Again.”

“You’re wrong.”

Roan laughed, a velvety dark sound.  “You’re a bad liar.”

“And you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Clarke snapped.

“Perhaps not.”  He leaned close enough for his breath to tickle her ear.  “But I have eyes, and it’s obvious that Wanheda has brought two powerful people to their knees.”  He backed away and sauntered towards his bunk.  “You’ll have to choose, you know,” he called over his shoulder.  “One day.”


	47. The Bounty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for grounder!Bellamy capturing Clarke instead of Roan.

“Sleep,” Bellamy ordered, and hauled the blonde off his horse.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“You said that already.”

 

“I’m hungry,” Clarke snarled, and Bellamy sighed heavily.  They had been traveling for hours since he handed her some berries at midday, and if he wanted her alive when they reached the Queen, he probably did have to feed her regularly.  He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out some dried meat.  

 

“Here.”  He handed it to her and she snatched it from his hands with narrowed eyes.

 

Bellamy got to work setting up a fire and feeding his horse while she watched sullenly.  “How long until we get there?” she asked, chewing.

 

“A week.  More, if you keep trying to run.”

 

“So more than a week then,” she said, determined.

 

He had his back to her, so he allowed himself a small smile.

 

**

 

On the third day, he decided to untie her hands.  They were deep within Ice Nation territory— his territory— and he had the horse.  Plus, he liked her.  A little.

 

She had spirit, and he admired that, even if had cost him several bruises and a split lip.  He’d grown used to the weight of her leaning against his chest on his horse.  That morning she’d started singing to herself and he let himself enjoy it, because her voice was beautiful and there was precious little beauty in this world.

 

It was a shame his queen was going to kill her.

 

**

 

She ran away on the fourth day.

 

**

 

He caught her on the fifth.  She’d made it impressively far, and as he tied her hands back together he let his lips tug up in a smile.  “You bought yourself another four days.”

 

She returned his smirk, and he wondered if the money was really worth watching her die.

 

**

 

Clarke noticed their direction quicker than he would have thought for someone who grew up in the sky.  “Why are we going south?”  She whipped her head around, her eyes bright in the morning light.

 

“Captives don’t get to ask questions.”

 

“We’ve been heading north for six days.  Why are we headed south now?”

 

“Going around a lake,” he lied, and judging from the way she studied his face, she didn’t believe him either.

 

**

 

He  _ felt _ the moment she realized what he was doing, because her shoulders tensed and then relaxed, and she leaned her back against his chest.  “Thank you,” she whispered, and he bent his head and brushed a kiss to the crown of her head.

 

She kissed his cheek when he helped her down from the horse and cut the ties holding her wrists together.  He watched her walk towards the twisted metal remains of her home from the sky and hoped it would be enough to keep her safe.

  
  



	48. Their Faces (outtake)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt for Roan telling Lexa that the way to controlling Clarke is by threatening Bellamy. Set in the Their Faces AU.
> 
> Warning for bellarke fans: This is pretty much just straight Clexa.
> 
> Warning for clexa fans: This fic implies that Clarke loves Bellamy too. 
> 
> (so no bitching, either of you.)

Lexa let Clarke storm out of her quarters and balled her hands into fists.  Her nails bit into her skin and she let the pain anchor her.   _You knew she would be angry,_ she told herself.  She’d been telling herself that for months, but there was a secret part of her that had dared to hope Clarke would understand.

Clearly, she hadn’t.

“Another visitor, _heda_ ,” her guard announced.  Lexa waved an impatient hand and the guard stepped aside.

Roan gave a slight bow— just enough to satisfy her glowering guards, who would have kicked him to his knees if he hadn’t.  “Leave us,” she told her men.  If Roan wanted to kill her, he was welcome to try.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with _Wanheda_ ,” Roan began.

“Clarke and I have many things to discuss.”   _Wanheda_ stuck uncomfortably in Lexa’s throat, no matter many times she tried to make herself say it.   _Wanheda_ would always come between her and Clarke now, and that pained her.

“You need her to kneel.”

“I need a great many things.”

Roan smirked.  “You need _Wanheda_ to join your coalition before my mother kills you like she did your girlfriend.”

Lexa was well-practiced at keeping her face blank, but Roan had to know that even the mere mention of Costia made her stomach feel as though it was made of knives.  “Did you want something, Prince Roan?”

He sat down on her bed— shockingly insolent, although Lexa expected nothing less of the spoiled former Prince— and grinned.  “I think you want something from me.”  He laid back with his hands tucked behind his head.  “I know how to make _Wanheda_ kneel to you.”

“You do,” she deadpanned.  “After a day.”

“Two days, Commander.  In which I almost lost her and then convinced her to come quietly.”

Lexa shoved his booted feet from her furs.  “Get up,” she snapped.

Roan sat up, but didn’t rise fully.  “So you’re interested.”

She swallowed her annoyance.  “If you have this information, out with it.”

“Not until you honor our deal.”

Lexa’s nostrils flared and she turned away, staring sternly out the window.  Azgeda forces were approaching rapidly, and the Sky People were proving surprisingly difficult to convince.  Time was running out— if Clarke did not kneel, people would die.

Lots of them.

“If your information leads to _Wanheda_ joining my Coalition, I will lift your banishment and not a moment before.”  She could always find some pretense to deny this deal if she had to— they had no witnesses, after all.  Prince Roan was a useful bargaining chip and she would not release him easily.  She hated the deception, but sometimes deception was necessary.

Finally, he stood and paced to her.  “The boy.”

Lexa’s heart gave a painful twist, because she knew immediately who he meant.  “What boy?” she said instead.

Roan wasn’t fooled.  “The boy.  You know which one.  He tried to rescue her and she gave up her life in exchange for his.  Stopped fighting entirely and came with me, quiet as a mouse.  Threaten him, and  _Wanheda_ is yours.”

“You’re dismissed.”  Roan watched her carefully before nodding his head and taking his leave.

 _Bellamy_.  What he meant to Clarke was something Lexa had not yet puzzled out. At first, he seemed to be her second, faithful and loyal, willing to die for her.  That she understood.

But then he left for the Mountain, and Clarke seemed to lose a little more of herself every day that passed without contact from him.  Clarke’s faith in him was more than just that of a commander and her second and the fear in her eyes when they thought he could be discovered was palpable, but when Lexa asked outright Clarke had dismissed the thought out of hand.

Roan and Clarke were both bruised and scarred when he arrived with her, something that had filled Lexa with fierce pride.  Clarke was not the type to go down without a fight and the thought that she would give up so completely for _Bellamy_ unnerved her.

But threatening Bellamy… even without Roan’s insight, Lexa had long known that holding his life in exchange for Clarke’s obeisance would forever harden Clarke’s heart against her.  She had a slim enough possibility for forgiveness as it was, and to threaten Clarke’s people (or person, as it were) would close that door for good.  Lexa knew first hand the pain Clarke would feel; the same pain she’d felt when Costia disappeared, the same terror that flooded her veins when the Ice Nation emissary arrived to tell Lexa she had once chance to save her.

The same guilt and grief and rage when she refused and Costia’s head arrived in a bag instead.

It would be easy enough to do— if she requested Bellamy’s presence at the summit, he would come.  From there it was a simple matter of overpowering him and then forcing Clarke to make a choice: kneel, or watch him die.

She could do it.  The Commander could.  Her people’s lives were at risk and her heart should not matter when they were in danger.

The Commander could do it, but Lexa couldn’t.  So she balled her hands into fists again and decided to wait instead.  Clarke would kneel of her own free will.

She had to.


	49. The Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested angsty Bellamy x Gina, modern au. Background bellarke, because that's how I roll.

“It doesn’t have to end like this,” Bellamy begged.

Gina just kept filling up the box with her things— her shampoo, the mousse she used to keep her curls from frizzing out even though he sort of liked them that way, the box of tampons she’d thrown under his sink last month— and pursed her lips.  “It kind of does, though.  You being in love with someone else is sort of an obstacle to us dating.”

“I’m not— I’m not in love with Clarke.  Not anymore.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she said.  There wasn’t even any pain in her voice— just dry sarcasm, and that hurt Bellamy the most.

“It’s the truth.”  They had had this fight half a dozen times in the past week, and he didn’t know how to prove it to her— yes, he had been stupidly in love with his best friend, but he moved on because she was with someone else and he wasn’t an idiot.   He wasn’t going to sit around and pine for someone who wasn’t going to love him back, so he shoved everything he felt for her aside from friendship out of his heart and moved the fuck on. Granted, she wasn’t with someone else _anymore_ , but he was so that was immaterial.

Gina and Clarke got along well, although she seemed to click with Raven a little better.  (She knew about his past with Raven and told him that as long as it was in the past she didn’t care that much.)  He never told her about his feelings for Clarke because he wasn’t that stupid, but every once and awhile he would catch Gina watching him with a slightly puzzled look on her face.

She didn’t bring it up until the night of the accident.  Or more accurately, the day after, since Bellamy was in a daze of panic from the second he got the phone call until he came back from the hospital, exhausted.  

_He was apparently still Clarke’s emergency contact (he remembered drunkenly offering one night when she complained that she was so alone she had no one to be her emergency contact), a fact he only learned when he received a heartstopping phone call from Polis Memorial Hospital informing him that Clarke Griffin had been in a car accident and was currently in surgery._

_He remembered calling Raven to ask her let Abby know and getting into his car to drive to the hospital, but that was the last thing his brain recalled before the doctor emerged into the waiting room to tell him Clarke was badly hurt and would need to stay for a few days, but she’d be okay._

_He almost fainted in relief and sent a quick message to Raven updating her as he rushed into the recovery room.  Clarke was still asleep, her face bruised and bandaged, and she had thick casts on her arm and leg.  He collapsed into the chair next to her and stared at the machines beeping all around them, the noise barely breaking through the constant buzzing in his brain.  He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually her eyelids flickered.  She groaned and squinted against the light.  “Hey there,” he said softly.  Without even thinking, he reached out and brushed back a lock of her hair.  He let his fingers trace her cheekbone, and she started to smile.  “You were in a car accident,” he told her in that same low tone.  “But you’re gonna be okay.”_

_“Way to freak us all out,” Raven said from the doorway.  She walked to the chair next to Bellamy and sent him an inexplicably dirty look.  “Your mom is at the airport and will be here soon.”_

_It wasn’t until the nurse shooed them out of Clarke’s room that Raven explained— Gina had come with her to the hospital and they walked in the moment Clarke started waking up._

_She’d left right then, and when he got home from the hospital the next morning, it was over._

_“When did you fall in love with her?” she asked, her eyes red rimmed as she sat on his couch._

_He was too tired to lie.  “Two years ago.  But I don’t feel that way anymore, okay?  We’re just friends.”_

_Gina scoffed, but she didn’t sound angry— just sad.  “Right.  Well, I’m done with this either way.”_

Bellamy had done his best to win her back over the last week— texts apologizing, two awkward coffee dates, and now today, when she showed up with a box and told him she was taking her stuff back to her apartment, but it hadn’t done any good.  He moved out of the way so she could leave his bathroom and followed her into his bedroom.  She dug through the drawer he’d given her just last month and dumped her underwear and sweatpants in with her toiletries, and then set the box down on his dresser and pressed her palm to her forehead.  “There’s no point in fighting for this,” she said without turning around.  “It’s only been six months.”

“Gina—”

“Look, I’m sorry.  I don’t care how you think you feel about her, I can’t do this.  I won’t.  I’m not going to be the person that helps you get over her.”  His phone beeped from his pocket and she sighed.  “She needs you right now, so I’m going to go, but not because I’m some self-sacrificing martyr, okay?  But because I’m not going to be the odd man out here.”  She grabbed the box and left his apartment without another word, just a sad smile and a jerk of her head.

Bellamy waited until her car left the parking lot to check his phone.

_Clarke Griffin_

_4:16pm_

_My mom is arguing with my doctors.  Please come mediate._

_Bellamy Blake_

_4:19pm_

_Be right there._


	50. Secret Crush(es)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @marycontrary82 requested: "I thought I was totally incognito about my feelings for you but apparently not because all of our friends are fucking with me."

It was _supposed_ to be a secret. **  
**

He didn’t even notice at first, too preoccupied with how things fell apart with Gina, but then suddenly, there it was: a crush.  Bellamy had worked very, very hard at keeping it a secret, and for four solid months, it worked.  Nobody noticed that Clarke had gone from Monty’s-best-friend to girl-he-had-a-raging-crush-on, and he intended to let it slide completely under the radar until it waned, because Clarke clearly wasn’t into him.

But then at Monty’s Christmas party, Raven made some stupid joke about him kissing Clarke under the mistletoe, and Clarke rolled up on her toes and gave him a peck on the cheek, and he _blushed_.

He fucking _blushed_ like he was a fucking ninth grader, not a grown ass man in his late 20s.  And Miller noticed.

Bellamy could have lived with Miller knowing, because Miller would keep his damn mouth shut in public.  Private shit talking he could deal with, but Miller, like the stupid lovesick jackass he was, spilled the beans to Monty.

Monty let it slip to Raven, and well, Raven was a kind of a dick.  Bellamy didn’t exactly blame her–he had ragged her about her enormous crush on Wells for close to a year before she did anything about it, so he definitely dug his own grave here— but it made his time with his friends enormously awkward because every time he so much as bumped into Clarke, or held a hand on her lower back as they were walking down the stairs, _someone_  was bound to react. Any tiny little thing would make Raven bug her eyes out at him, and once Clarke reached for his arm (it was icy out and she was wearing heels; he was only being nice) and Miller let out a bark of laughter that he hastily turned into a cough.

So by the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, Bellamy decided to skip the annual party at Wells’ entirely.  He’d overheard Raven ribbing Clarke about her new nameless _crush_ and he didn’t want to run the risk of watching Clarke on a date.  He was being stupid and petty, but he didn’t know how else to get over the crush except by avoiding her.

Which was why he was surprised when Clarke knocked on his door with a bottle of wine that night.  “Why aren’t you at Wells’?”

“Everyone’s pissing me off,” she said, breezing past him and heading straight to his kitchen.  She rummaged through his drawers until she found the corkscrew and Bellamy pulled down two wine glasses from the cabinets.

“They’re pissing me off too,” he admitted.

“Yeah, Raven said you were being lame.”  

They clinked their glasses and because Bellamy was a masochist, he decided to address the elephant in the room— or at least, in his mind.  “So what’s this I hear about a new crush?”

Clarke turned bright red.  “Fucking Raven.  It’s nothing.  I’ll get over it.”

They were halfway through the second episode of _Mercy Street_ (Clarke liked the medical element, he liked the history element) and both well into their second glasses of wine when Clarke let out a deep breath.  “I have a confession to make.”

Bellamy’s stomach jolted, but he kept his face impassive.  “Okay, what?”

“There is no crush.  Or at least…not a new one.  It’s kind of— well, he was dating someone, so I told myself I’d get over it, but now he’s not, and…yeah.”

  
“So where’s the problem?  If he’s single, what’s stopping you?  Is he still into his ex?”

“I don’t think so.  But I think— I think he likes someone else.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Bellamy asked, wondering what he’d done in a past life to deserve this hell.  “Maybe he’s just…shy.”

Clarke snorted over the rim of her wine glass.  “He’s not shy.”

Bellamy shrugged.  “Then I don’t know.  Maybe you just have to tell him.”  That was rich, considering his silent-and-apparently-eternal-crush-on-Clarke.

She downed the last gulp of wine.  “Then here goes nothing,” she declared.

 And then she kissed him.


	51. N.E.W.T.s Are For Losers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts AU.

Bellamy waved to Raven as he made his way down to the lake.  It was a rare mild day, where the sun’s warmth actually reached his skin, and he pushed back the branches on the hedge near the shore to squeeze through. **  
**

Clarke was laying on her back, an arm slung across her eyes to blot out the sun.  She had taken off her tie and it curled like a green snake near her elbow, but her stripped socks were still pulled primly up to her knee, revealing only a thin slice of thigh before her grey skirt began.  Her bookbag sat next to her and her sketchbook peeked out of the top.  She shifted her arm to peer at him and then moved it back into place.  “Don’t you have a Potions essay due today?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

She groaned.  “Don’t remind me.”

“Why?  You’re good at Potions.”

“But I hate it.”

Bellamy pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to the newest drawing— Miller and Monty in the Great Hall, their heads just a little too close together for mere friendship.  “This one’s good.”

“That one’s rubbish.”

He chuckled and stretched out beside her.  Clarke picked up her wand and made a flicking motion, and once again he was blown away by how quickly she had picked up casting nonverbal spells.  What took most people the better part of a year she’d managed in a month.  When she first started at Hogwarts, a stuck up little first year with a habit of correcting second years’ wand grips, he’d loathed her on principle, and not just because she was Slytherin and he was Gryffindor.  

He never would have guessed then that his biggest fear during seventh year wouldn’t be his N.E.W.T.s, but leaving her behind at the end of term.

“What was that spell?” he asked, watching tiny white puffs of clouds scuttle across the light blue sky.

“Intruder spell.  Anyone gets within a meter of here and they’ll trip over their own two feet.”

“Even professors?”

Clarke rolled to her side and propped her elbow on the ground.  “Especially professors,” she grinned.

Bellamy took her cue and cuffed a hand around the back of her neck, craning his neck up for a kiss.  He rolled her onto her back and fit himself against her side, trailing his fingers down her neck.  She tugged impatiently at his tie and he chuckled against her lips and then kissed the place where her pulse was fluttering.  He slipped her second and third buttons open and kissed just above her heart, his other hand moving to her leg and gathering the thick wool of her skirt in his fingers.

He slid his hand up her thigh and she arched into the air, their mouths sealed together.  She brushed her tongue against his and he made a noise at the back of his throat, half moan and half whine.  Then it was her turn to smile, but only for a second because then he traced her slit through her underwear, his long finger moving up and down until the fabric grew damp under his ministrations.  Bellamy nudged it aside and gently pressed a finger into her, pulling his head back to watch her pupils dilate with want.  Clarke fisted the grass with one hand and his hair with the other, and then he added a second finger and she gasped in pleasure.  It only took a few minutes to have her shuddering and falling apart in his arms, her lips pressed together to stifle her sounds.

Bellamy kissed the tip of her nose and smiled.  Clarke reached for his groin but he shook his head, kissing her lips quickly.  “I have Double Herbology in ten minutes,” he explained.

“Kane doesn’t care if you’re late.”

“I still have to pass my N.E.W.T.s, though.”

“N.E.W.T.s are for losers,” Clarke pouted.

He chuckled and stood, brushing the grass from his trousers, and Clarke pushed herself up as well to straighten his tie and pluck a stray twig from his curls.  “Think you can get away for a bit tonight?  Maybe meet me in the Room of Requirement?”

“I have to supervise the First Year Dueling Club,” he reminded her as her hands came to rest on his waist.  “But I can get away after that.”  

She kissed him and rolled back onto her heels.  “Can’t wait,” she said with a smirk and an eyebrow raise that made him seriously consider skipping Herbology entirely, but he made himself kiss her forehead and push back through the hedges instead.

(They both got caught out of bed that night, but it was worth every second of detention.)

 

 


	52. Their Faces (IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chasseresse-de-la-lune asked for: "Lexa throws Bellamy in prison for one night as punishment for bringing weapons into the summit. He spends the next few hours in the company of none other than Prince Roan, who smirks at him from the adjacent cell." Technically in the Their Faces AU (chapters 40, 42, 46), but it's not necessary to read those if Clarke/Roan isn't your thing.

Lexa’s men waited until they’d left Polis to kidnap him, grabbing Bellamy when the rover pulled over for a quick break.  One second he was peeing against a tree and the next second he had a gag in his mouth and a bag over his head.  He assumed they were Ice Nation at first and relished the chance to take a few of them out fighting, but instead they dragged him to a dungeon and tossed him inside a cell.  “ _Heda_ may have a use for you,” one of them growled from the other side of iron bars.  He left a torch behind and Bellamy banged his fist against the bars, hard, rage and helplessness coursing through his veins. **  
**

“It would be more prudent to save your strength,” a man purred from the shadows.  

Bellamy whirled around to see a lithe man with long hair emerge into the flickering light.  He recognized him in an instant.  “You,” he spat, and threw himself at the man who’d gotten them into this whole mess.  Bellamy’s fist connected with his jaw, but that was the only blow that landed.  The other man was slightly older and leaner, and moved with catlike quickness.  His blows were more defensive than Bellamy’s, and every time Bellamy thought he had him dead to rights the other man would slip from his grasp.

Pain lanced through his thigh when the other man grew tired of their fight and stuck his thumb into the wound.  It had only just started knitting together and Bellamy strangled a scream, collapsing to the cold rock beneath him.  “I said to save your strength,” the man said scornfully.  

Bellamy dragged himself to the other side of the cell in a vain attempt to nurse his wounded pride and leg.  “Why did you bring her here?”

“Because like your _Wanheda_ , I made a deal the Commander.  Bring her _Wanheda_ and she would lift my banishment.”

“Don’t call her that,” Bellamy growled.

He smirked.  “I brought her Clarke like I said, but _Heda_ betrayed me.”

“Sounds like her.”  Bellamy looked him over carefully, his eyes lingering on the scar near his temple.  “You’re Ice Nation.”

“Prince Roan of Azgeda, at your service,” he replied drily.  “But before you attack me again, remember that I have been in Polis since long before the attack on your people.”

“But your mother ordered it.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“She sent someone to us.  Someone she thought I’d trust.  I did, and then Echo betrayed me.”

Roan’s eyes flickered at the mention of Echo, but he didn’t address that.  “I don’t doubt it.  Nor do I doubt your rage.  You care for her, do you not?”  At Bellamy’s blank look, Roan sighed.  “For Clarke.  I saw you, remember, when she was my prisoner.”

“So?”  Blood was leaking through his pants, but not enough to worry him.

“You’re each in such a hurry to die for one another, but yet you won’t admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“She said much the same to me,” Roan grinned.  “Tell me— how much do you know of her attachment to our beloved commander?”

“Go to hell.”

Roan chuckled.  “Enough to be bothered by it, then.”  He flicked his eyes to the passageway out of the dungeons and dropped his easy demeanor.  “Those guards— they are not to be trusted.”

Bellamy made a face.  “Really.  You don’t say.”

“I mean they are not working for Lexa.  They are playing another game— the Commander does not know we’re here,” he said and leaned back against the opposite wall.  “Lexa would not put prisoners as important as us down here.”

“And you know that for a fact?”

“I do.  If we were her prisoners, we’d be in her tower.  I was her prisoner, much like your Clarke, so I would know.  She had me arrested, but the men who took me away weren’t her usual guards.”

“But you’re a prince.  I’m nobody.”

“Not to Clarke.”

Bellamy ignored his implications. “Say you’re right about the guards. What does this mean?”  He didn’t trust this man— not yet, probably not ever— but he seemed to know things Bellamy didn’t.

“It means our commander is about to be betrayed, and someone knows enough to anticipate needing to counter _Wanheda’s_ power.”

“How?”

Roan sighed and looked up, like an exasperated teacher explaining something to a petulant child.  “You.  Lexa would do anything to save Clarke, but Clarke— she would die to save you.”


	53. Sailing an Armada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lightning5 requested bellarke and bartender mechanic, and then I started thinking about the many permutations of pairings on this show that we all ship, and then I thought: WHAT IF THERE WAS A UNIVERSE WHERE ALL OF THESE PAIRINGS EXISTED?
> 
> And then I wrote this. I had to create a fucking CHART to keep track, and no grounders are included because I think if I added in those ships my brain would have exploded.
> 
> Features: literally every delinquent-based ship from the show, plus a couple I just invented.

“Do you ever wonder if anyone else’s friend group is as incestuous as ours?” Murphy asked, his brow furrowed. **  
**

“What the fuck are you on about, Murphy— I’ve never had sex with my brother,” Octavia spat.

He choked a little on his beer.  “I didn’t mean that,” he hastened to add.  “I meant…a lot of us here have hooked up with each other.”

“Define hooked up,” Raven said from down the table.

“At least made out.”

“Well that’s an easy one for me— you, Wells, Bellamy, and Gina,” she said, motioning to the woman herself, who looked rather smug, “And Monty.  Are we counting Wick?”

“He only ever hung around with us because of you, so no, but we should probably count Finn.” Clarke chimed in.  “But wait, Monty?”

Monty shrugged and threw back a shot.  “I wanted to find out if I liked girls, so I made out with Raven.  The answer’s no, by the way.”  Raven stuck her tongue out at him and he did the same.

“Makes sense.  That’s why I had sex with Miller,” Clarke said.

Bellamy’s eyes went wide.  “You what?”

“I knew him before you, dumbass.”

“It’s true, man— it was only high school.  And does it even count as sex if neither of you finished?” Miller said from Monty’s side.

“Still though,” Bellamy said with an uncomfortable expression.  “That means—”

“We’ve had sex with the same girl and each other?  Yeah, hate to break it to you, but it’s the truth.”

At Clarke’s look it was Bellamy’s turn to shrug.  “It was college.  Shit happened.”

“I’m officially out of this conversation,” Octavia yelled over the noise of the bar and pushed back from the table.  She wandered over to hit on the bartender, who was her current project.

“Wait, who here has hooked up with the same people?” Monty asked.

“Well, Clarke and I have had sex with…Bellamy and Finn.  So two people in common.  Unless you ever hooked up with Murphy?”

“Yup, but just the once.  He’s not really my type,” Clarke said.  “No offense, Murph.”

“None taken.” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“And you kissed Wells, right?  At his going away party?” Clarke asked Raven.

“I did,” Raven said.

“I had sex with him in high school too, so that makes four.”  They mimed a high five across the table and giggled.

“And then Bellamy and I have Gina and Clarke in common,” Raven added.

“Wait, Clarke too?” Gina said with surprise.

“I was making the case for dating ladies,” Clarke called.  “So you’re welcome.”

Gina raised her glass in Clarke’s direction with a smile.  “You did the lord’s work.”

“I’m starting to think Murphy has a point,” Miller put in.  “This is kind of gross.”

“We just have a lot of fluid sexuality in this group,” Clarke argued.  “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I just mean, he;s not wrong.  This is incestuous.”

Murphy smiled broadly and lean back in his chair.  “That’s why I have a new girlfriend.”

“Who?” asked Clarke, Harper, and Raven simultaneously.

“Emori.  Whom I’m proud to say, none of you has ever made out with.”

“Emori?” Clarke said, whipping her head around.  “Long dark hair, killer smile?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Murphy said, leaning his chair forward with a solid thump.

Clarke smiled evilly.  “Just kidding.  I did try though.  Like a year ago, when I was on my whole walkabout thing.  She’s nice, but she’s— she’s got like, warrants and shit out for her.  You know that right?”

“I do,” he confirmed.

“Wait, I’m losing track of everything,” Harper said.  “Can we write this down?”  She reached back and pulled her purse off the back of her chair.

“I have a pen somewhere,” Gina said and started fishing in her purse too.  “But I agree with Miller and Murphy— guys, this is a little much.”

Raven looked at her with tender concern.  “We can stop, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m not uncomfortable.  I’m just thinking about how if one of us had the clap, we’d _all_ have the clap.”  She accepted the paper from Harper.

“Let’s just go around the table,” Monty said.  “Raise your hand if you’ve got Murphy on your list.”

Raven and Harper raised their hands along with Clarke, making Monroe look at Harper with raised eyebrows.  “Really?  Fucking _Murphy_?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Murphy called, but Monroe flapped her hand at him impatiently.

“We went out for a month or so like, two years ago hon.  And I should say, he was perfectly lovely the whole time,” Harper said before kissing Monroe’s forehead.  Monroe seemed to accept her explanation and leaned back in her chair.

“Got it. Harper, Raven, Clarke, and…” Monty scanned the table and then his jaw dropped.  “Bellamy?”

“Hate-sex has a time and place,” Bellamy said evenly.

Monty was doing a bad job of covering his surprise, but he nodded.  “Okay…Octavia,” he said, nodding to her empty place.  

Clarke sheepishly raised her hand.  “We kissed on a dare once.”

“And she dated Jasper in high school,” Monty added.  “I assume we’re counting him?”

“If he ever comes up for air from Maya, yeah,” Raven said with an eyeroll.  “So Octavia: Clarke and Jasper.”  

Gina recorded it dutifully.  “What about you, Monty?”

“Miller and Raven and Jasper.”

“Jasper?” Monroe asked.

“I made out with Raven to find out if I liked girls, and then Jasper to find out if I liked boys.”

“Logical,” Bellamy said.

“I’m easy— just Harper,” Monroe volunteered.  “I guess I’m not as cool as some of you,” she said a little sarcastically.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want,” Bellamy said and reached behind Harper and Clarke’s chairs to tweak her braid.  She sent him a fond look and accepted Harper’s cheek kiss.

“And Jasper’s just me and Octavia,” Monty said.  “I can vouch for that.”

“That brings us to Miller next,” Gina prompted.  “And that’s…Monty, Clarke, and Bellamy?”

“That’s it,” Miller said with a wide grin.

“And I’m just Raven and Bellamy, which puts me way behind some of you,” Gina said, scribbling quickly.  

“I’m just John and Monroe,” Harper said and then directed her attention across the table.  “Raven?”

Raven looked thoughtful.  “We’re counting Finn and Wells?”

“I will be,” Clarke answered.

“Finn, Wells, Murphy, Monty, Bellamy, Clarke, and, well, you.  You’re my favorite though,” she said, and leaned forward to kiss Gina on the lips.

“Thanks babe.  Next up is…Clarke.”

Murphy, Raven, Miller, and Bellamy raised their hands.  “Don’t forget Octavia, Finn, and Wells,” Clarke added.

“I think you two are going to win,” Gina whispered conspiratorially.

“I think we will too,” Raven stage-whispered back.

“Not so fast.  My turn,” Bellamy interrupted.  Murphy, Raven, Gina, Clarke, and Miller all raised their hands.

“That’s only five.  Raven and I’ve got seven,” Clarke pointed out.

Bellamy smirked.  “Except I also made out with Finn once.  Before I knew either of you, I swear,” he said at Clarke and Raven’s dark looks.

“Still just six.”

Gina tallied them up.  “Clarke’s right— She and Raven are at seven, You’re at at six, and then Clarke and Raven have four people in common, but have also hooked up, so that makes five, kind of.”

Monty looked thoughtful.  “Are you sure?”

“Honestly?  No.  This is too fucking complicated.”

“Wait, Bellamy and I might have more people in common.  Are we counting Roan?”

“No, some dude you two picked up in a bar for a threesome certainly doesn’t count,” Raven said.

“Okay, hold on,” Clarke said, and counted on her fingers.  “Then Bellamy and I have four in common too, but if you count me for him and him for me, that’s five.”

“I’m lost,” Monroe confessed.

Raven wrapped her arm around Gina and kissed her cheek and then raised her beer glass.  “Cheers, guys.”

“To what?” Bellamy asked, but raised his glass anyway.  His arm was lazily draped over Clarke’s chair and she was leaning into his side.

“Really, really close friendships?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Miller said, and they clinked their glasses together, newly enlightened and thankful that everyone always used protection.


	54. Movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested bellarke watching a chick flick.

Clarke knocked on Bellamy’s door and poked her head in.  “What are you watching?” **  
**

He looked up from his bed, the blue light of the laptop reflecting off his glasses.  “Nothing.”

“Sounds a lot like _Chocolat_ instead of nothing.  Bad day?”

“The grant fell through.”

Clarke slipped into his bedroom and climbed on top of the covers.  “That sucks, I’m sorry.  The Dean’s Office one?”

“Yeah.”

“That one was only a semester though, right?  You didn’t want that one.  You said it yourself— you’d rather get the Regent’s.” Bellamy shrugged, and Clarke pressed an impulsive kiss to the crown of his head.  It was funny, how they had gone from random roommates who hated each other, to…this.  Friends, confidants, and not-quite-lovers-but-almost.  There was a careless affection to their friendship that Clarke both cherished and hated, because on the one hand it meant he cared for her, but on the other, maybe it meant he only cared for her that much.  “Sorry, I’ll stop trying to make you feel better,” she said, and ran her fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay.  Thanks for trying,” he said, and he leaned into her touch.

She climbed under the covers with him.  “How far into this are you?” she asked.

“Not far.  You don’t have to watch this with me, you know,” he said.

“Too late.  Come on, let’s go— Johnny Depp isn’t going to watch himself.”

“I’m watching it for Juliette Binoche,” he said loftily.

“And I’m watching it for both of them.  Come on, hit start,” she urged.

Bellamy leaned back and let her rest her head on his shoulder and hit play, and halfway through the movie he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.  Clarke sighed happily, nuzzled into his neck, and decided that for now, this was enough.


	55. Movies (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I missed my friend @lifeisshiny‘s birthday, so this is a tiny little ficlet to make it up to her. CC, I hope you enjoy bellarke bickering about steggy!

“You really mean to tell me you’re not going to see _Captain America: Civil War_?”  Bellamy asked. **  
**

Clarke lifted her head from his chest.  “No Peggy, no ticket.”

“But that’s the whole point of his story— he missed so much and now he’s rebuilding his life with new friends.”  His fingers were tangled in her hair, absent minded strokes that made her want to purr.

“If they found a way to bring back Bucky, they could have found a way to bring back Peggy.”

“They did.  In the last one—”

“– old Peggy does not count,” Clarke protested.  She dropped her head back to his chest.  “They picked a man over a woman and I won’t stand for that sort of misogynistic pandering.”

“Except it does sort of seem like Steve is in love with Peggy and Bucky.  So, you know, representation.”

Clarke scoffed, rubbing her palm across his stomach.  The soft flannel of his shirt felt nice on her skin, and she liked the low rumble of his voice, even if he was wrong.  “Like they’ll ever go in that direction.  I’m sorry, I just refuse to acknowledge that Steve and Peggy didn’t get to have their happy ending.  That’s what they deserved, you know?”

“I should tell Octavia you turned out to be the die-hard romantic of the two of us,” Bellamy said, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

“You’re the one that owns _Chocolat_ , not me,” Clarke reminded him.  “It’s just in this instance.  I just can’t embrace him being happy with anyone who isn’t Peggy, you know?”

Bellamy kissed the top of her head.  “For the record, I wouldn’t be happy with anyone who wasn’t you either,” he whispered.

Clarke smiled to herself and snuggled just a little closer.  “I’ll see it when it comes out on DVD,” she admitted.

“That’s my girl.”


	56. Well, this is awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested Bellamy giving "the talk" to Raven's boyfriend or girlfriend, and I decided to make the girlfriend Gina because I heart awkwardness. And Gina.

“This is weird, right?” Gina asked.  She slid her fingernail underneath the label of her beer bottle and started picking.  “I mean, she’s your best friend, and we...yeah.”

 

Bellamy trained his eyes on his whiskey and coke.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “It’s kind of weird.  But not bad-weird.”

 

“Not bad-weird,” Gina echoed with a small smile.

 

“We weren’t together that long,” Bellamy pointed out.

 

“But you and Raven—”

 

“It was once.  It meant nothing.”

 

Gina snorted.  “That’s exactly what she said.”

 

“It’s the truth.  But I assume that’s why you wanted to see me?”

 

“It is.  Raven said she’d talk to you too, but I wanted to make sure things weren’t, you know, weird between us.  Because if she and I are together now, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

 

“I did talk to her,” Bellamy said, and swirled his glass so the ice clinked against the side.  “But I also...I wanted to talk to you.  Not about us, but about her.”

 

“What about her?”

 

“Raven’s...she’s my best friend.  Has been for a long time now, and I know you’re a good person, but...god, there’s no good way to put this.  Raven’s more easily hurt than she lets on.”

 

Gina smiled fondly.  “Sounds like someone I know.”

 

“Maybe,” Bellamy said, ducking his head down and running his hand through his hair.  “I’m not going to tell you that if you break her heart I’ll end you, or anything, but I just want you to be careful with her.”

 

“I will,” Gina promised.  “But I take it if I’m not, I’ll have you to answer to?”

 

“When you put it like that I sound like a meddling dick.”

 

“Maybe you are,” Gina said with a mischievous eyebrow raise.  “Except Raven already told me you gave her this speech yesterday.”

 

“Traitor,” Bellamy mumbled, but Gina just bumped his shoulder with hers.

 

“You’re a good guy, you know,” she told him.  Bellamy shrugged uncomfortably, and Gina decided not to point out how red his ears were getting.

  
  



	57. Sparring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested Roan/Octavia. It's not particularly shippy, but it could be if you squint.

Octavia’s fist met his face with a satisfying smack.  Roan’s head snapped back and he grinned at her, seemingly unperturbed by the welt she just raised on his cheek.  His left fist came rocketing up towards her chin and she darted backward just in time, but she missed the right hook he threw her way.  It was a glancing blow but enough to stun her, and he got his leg between her feet and sent her down with a tooth-jarring thump. **  
**

His ponytail swung back and forth and he gave her that taunting grin again, the one that made her want to smash his teeth in.  “Again?” he asked.  He stood as though he was simply having a conversation with a friend, but Octavia knew that his careless attitude belied a viper waiting to strike.

“Again,” she confirmed, and this time he tossed her a spear.  The tip was blunted for practice, but that didn’t make the blows from the staff any softer.  She countered his first three strikes but his fourth slipped under her radar and he thwacked her across the thigh.  She grunted, readjusted her grip and tried again.  Not much blunted the pain roaring through her veins after what Bellamy did, but sparring— and the bruises and aches that came with it— helped make her outsides match her insides.  She loathed the Ice Nation prince, but he was one of the few members of what was left of the coalition willing to train with her.

So they trained.  For hours every morning and a few more every night, until she could guess his every move. Or so she thought, just as he smashed her fingers with a lightning quick blow.  Octavia cocked her head, shook out her stinging fingers, and gripped the spear more tightly.  “Again,” she grunted.

“Again,” the prince confirmed.


	58. Antique's Roadshow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Rumaan wanted Bellamy and Niylah being bros.

Bellamy was sitting cross legged on the ground, looking through the bottom shelf of first-editions, when he heard her behind him.  “So do you do this to all of Clarke’s one night stands, or am I special?” **  
**

He started, because sure, maybe he’d come nosing into her antique store to check up on her, but he hadn’t mentioned Clarke or even done much except talk to the proprietor about the auctions where she picked up her books before he got distracted by this shelf.  He’d _meant_ to make sure she wasn’t the sort to stalk Clarke, or something, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to accomplish that without being sort of a stalker himself.  Clarke had been really impulsive lately, and while he wasn’t that concerned about her judgment, he also wasn’t, you know, _not_ concerned either.  

Clarke would absolutely murder him if she ever found out.

“What?” he asked, hoping he didn’t look too guilty.

“You’re Bellamy.  You called when Clarke and I— well, she told me that you’re her best friend.”

“And you know this how?”

“Your face showed up on her screen.  I have a good memory.”

Bellamy shrugged.  “This could just be a coincidence.  You own an antique store; I’m a history nerd.”

Niylah tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder.  “Except you never asked who I am,” she smirked.

 _Fuck_.  “Nice to meet you,” he said with a sigh.

“Niylah.”  She folded her long limbs and sat next to him.  “So you never answered— do you do this all the time, or just me?”

“You were the only one I knew enough about to track down,” he admitted.  “And she will kill me if she ever finds out.  I probably shouldn’t have done this.”

“Probably not, because it makes you look pretty fucking crazy.”

“Is she okay?” he asked, because really, that was why he was turning into such a stalker.  Clarke was worrying him, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Yes and no,” Niylah admitted.  “But I do know that this?  This will not help.  Whatever she’s dealing with, she needs to handle on her own.”

Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his face.  “I know.”  He scanned the shop, and his eyes stopped on a display of medals.  “What war are those from?”

“Mostly Civil War, but a few World War I.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Wanna see?”

For the next half hour, they talked.  They started with the medals, which led to an argument over Civil War battles, which lead to them agreeing that World War One was woefully misunderstood by the American public at large.  “None of my friends will ever let me talk about history for this long,” he told her, and she laughed.

“Mine either.  They make fun of me for watching Antiques Roadshow.”

“What?  That show is awesome.”

Niylah’s eyes lit up.  “I’ll make you a deal— you come over and watch it with me some time, and I won’t sell you out to Clarke if I ever see her again.”

“You’re on,” he grinned.


	59. Sleepless in Seattle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lushatrocity requested a sleepless in seattle AU. Full disclosure: I don’t think I’ve seen Sleepless in Seattle in well over a decade. But I googled the plot.

“A survivor of a massacre, a man who lost a child, and a child who lost a mother.  I’m your host, Ira Glass, and this week on _This American Life,_ we’re exploring the topic of grief.  We start with that last story, that of a child who lost his mother— or rather, how the loss of his mother has changed his life and the life of his father.” **  
**

“This is Augustus, or Gus, as he will cheerfully tell you he prefers to be called.  Gus lost his mother, Gina, in a car accident when he was only three.  Now nine, Gus and his father, Bellamy, live in Seattle.”

“I don’t really remember my mom,” a childlike voice proclaimed through the tinny speakers of her laptop.  Clarke smiled sadly to herself, remembering how Wells felt when they were little— like he wasn’t allowed to grieve his mother since he never remembered her.  She was a blank space in his life, a question mark, not a hole the way her father’s death became.  “My dad shows me pictures and tells me stories, but it’s weird not to remember her.  Sometimes I lie and tell him I do remember, but I think he knows.”

Clarke picked up her wine, her ring clinking against the glass, and took a sip.  She stirred the pasta on the stove and frowned, wondering why the noodles were taking so long to soften.

“Mostly, I want my dad to be happy instead of so sad, and I think he needs to find somebody.  He won’t date, and I think he thinks that’s what I want, but it’s not.  I want him to date someone like that doctor you had on a few weeks ago, the heart surgeon.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped to her laptop, disbelieving.  She was only a bit part of that episode— a short interview in a longer piece on one of her patients, a ten year old heart transplant recipient. _Maybe he means someone else._  She didn’t listen to the podcast every week, after all.  They probably had several heart surgeons on.  Or something.

“You could tell she likes kids, so she’d like me,” Gus declared, and Clarke snorted at his confidence.  He was right— she did like him.  “And she’s smart, and my dad is a professor, so whoever he dates has to be at least as smart as him.”  She was about to call Finn into the kitchen and brag about having a nine year old fan when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Finn yelled.  She could hear him talking at the door, but whomever it was, he wasn’t inviting them in.  Clarke turned down the heat on the stove and made her way to the door, curious.

A beautiful woman with a long, dark ponytail stood in the doorway, looking furious.  Finn’s shoulders were slumped, his hand still on the door like he wanted to close it but couldn’t.  She caught Clarke’s eye and sighed.  “I’m Raven,” the woman called over his shoulder.  “Finn’s _other_ fiancee.”

**

“Before we conclude, we have a follow up from a piece we did last year.  Listeners may remember Gus, the nine year old boy who made a case for his widowed father to date one of our previous guests, a heart surgeon named Clarke.  Clarke recently got in touch with us with a message for Gus and his father, Bellamy.”

“Hi Gus, and, um, Bellamy.  I heard your story on one of the worst nights of my life and I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you, but I’ve had kind of a shi— bad year.”  Clarke cringed at the way her voice sounded played back over the speakers, but what was done was done.  She’d called in and recorded this a few weeks ago, and now all she could do was wait.

Wait, and think about the deep timbre of Bellamy’s voice and the love that seemed to pour out of it when he spoke about Gus.  She was probably insane— actually, she’d have to check with Jackson but she was positive _falling in love with a guy after a five minute podcast interview_ was probably listed somewhere in the DSM under “delusional disorders”– but she couldn’t help it.  For the first four months after Finn left, she’d forgotten entirely about her nine year old fan in Seattle and his handsome-sounding father.  She focused on putting herself back together, and then she somehow fell head over heels in love with Lexa, only for that to crash and burn two months later.

But now she had some distance from both of them, and she found herself listening to that stupid podcast over and over again.  She’d hear the fondness in Bellamy’s voice when he responded to his son’s suggestion that he date her ( _I’m flattered, kid, but a woman like that is probably already married_ ) and the love when he talked about his deceased wife _(She always made me smile, and that’s not that easy.  I’m kind of a grump, my sister says.  Gus says that too, as a matter of fact_.)

So three weeks ago, half-drunk and with Raven’s similarly intoxicated support, she’d called the studios of _This American Life_ and asked to if she could respond.

“But now that my year is over, I’d like to make a new start.  I’m not saying we have to get married or anything, but Bellamy— if you’re interested, I’ll be on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial at eight pm on Valentine’s Day.  It’s a bold day to go on a first date, but you sound like a bold man.”

**

“And now we have one last follow up to one of our most unexpected stories.  I don’t think any of us here at _This American Life_ thought when we interviewed heart surgeon Clarke Griffin and then widower Bellamy Blake and his son Gus for two separate pieces we were starting a love story for the ages, but here we are.  We’ll let Gus fill you in.”

“Hi Ira, it’s Gus here.  I know it’s been awhile since we chatted, but we have some recent developments to share.” Clarke bit back a snort and raised her eyebrows at Bellamy, who was clearly trying to do the same.  She was used to Gus’ odd way of talking— like he was a middle aged city councilman, not an eleven year old boy— but it never stopped being funny to hear his still-reedy voice take on that _let’s have a chat_ tone like he was running for office.  “My dad almost chickened out of Clarke’s Valentine’s Day date offer, but fortunately, I was there to save the day.”

“So the date worked out?” Ira prompted.

“Kind of.  I didn’t anticipate Clarke being as much like my dad as she is, so we had a few rough patches here and there.”  Now Clarke looked pointedly at Gus, who dissolved into giggles.  “It’s true,” he insisted to her, and Bellamy sent her his own pointed look.

“He’s not wrong,” Bellamy whispered before Gus shushed them both.

“But a few months ago Clarke got a job out here in Seattle and I convinced my dad it was time to propose.”

“And she said yes, I assume?” Ira asked.

“Well, first she asked me if it was okay.  I said it was, so then she said yes.”

“You convinced him, huh?” Clarke asked Gus with an arched eyebrow.

“I did,” he said smugly, and Clarke smiled.

She loved this family.  She really, really did.


	60. Touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Rashaka asked for Bellamy stroking Clarke's hair so she can sleep somewhere in season three. I left the setting nice and vague so you can headcanon it in wherever it might fit.

“I’ll take first watch,” Bellamy offered, like he always did.  They’d been hiking for almost a week, and every night, he took first watch.  Clarke tried fighting him on it, but it was pointless.  He was the only person on earth as stubborn as she was, so she eventually just let him win. **  
**

Besides, she never slept all the way through the night anymore, so when the nightmares threatened to choke her she would take over and Bellamy would pretend not to notice as he laid down to sleep.

It was the third night of their mission that it started.  She laid down next to him, facing the fire, but sleep wouldn’t come.  They’d had two close encounters with panthers that day and her heart was racing— she couldn’t forget that second panther coming within a hairsbreadth of clawing out Bellamy’s throat.  If she hadn’t jumped on its back with her dagger, he’d be dead.

Her hands started to shake just thinking about it, so she stuffed them into her armpits and squeezed her eyes shut.  His touch was so soft that at first she thought it was a breeze tickling her forehead, but then she realized he was stroking her hair back.  She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, forcing herself to relax.  He kept going, running his fingers from her crown to the very ends of her hair and then starting again, even, deliberate movements that let her adrenaline start to ebb until her limbs felt heavy enough for her to sleep.

After that, Bellamy took first watch and stroked her hair until she fell asleep.  Every night.  She started moving closer and closer to him, needing more than just his touch— even the simple warmth radiating off his thigh helped her relax, and on the fifth night of their mission she gave up the pretense entirely and laid down with her head in his lap.

Bellamy didn’t say anything, just started working his fingers through her hair until sleep crawled up her spine and engulfed her.

The nightmares were different every night, except they weren’t.  It was always her dead, back to haunt her.

Her eyes flew open and for a second, she didn’t see the fire, just Finn’s body tied to a post.  But then it was gone and Bellamy’s hand was resting comfortably on her head, so she breathed in and out until she could sit up without flinching.  “My turn,” she said, like she did every night.

And like every night, he laid down a safe distance from her, because Bellamy would always comfort her but he wouldn’t seek it.  Not outright.  She scooted closer to him and paused, waiting for him to protest.  He didn’t, so she moved a little closer again until his curls brushed against the side of her jeans.  She reached out, tentative, and ran her fingertips lightly through those thick curls.  His hair was softer than she was expecting and she smiled to herself because that was just like the man himself.  “This okay?” she whispered and wasn’t entirely sure he could hear her over the crackle of the fire.  She gently scratched her nails along his scalp and something like a moan escaped his lips.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and Clarke leaned back to let him place his head in her lap.  His head was heavy but she welcomed its weight.  She wove her hand into the thatch of curls near his forehead and let them separate out between her fingers, soft silky wisps against her palm.  His brow smoothed out and his lips parted as his breaths got deeper, more even, and then he was asleep.

 

 


	61. The Senator's Son and the Mechanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @marycontrary requested ice mechanic and fake dating.

“Who’s that?” Raven asked, pointing with her champagne flute.  So far most of the guests at Abby’s fundraisers were gross; grey haired men with paunches and women way too young for them on their arms.  But the guy with shoulder length hair was at least roughly their age and his general _over it_ air appealed to Raven.  Plus, the way he was wearing that suit, she was reasonably sure he was pretty cut underneath it.

Clarke snuck a practiced, subtle look.  “That’s Roan.  Roan Glazer.  His mom must be here somewhere; she’s a senator from North Dakota.  Oil money, those two.”

“He worth my time?”

Clarke shrugged.  “We hooked up once like, five years ago?  Senate Christmas party. He’s kind of a dick, but also good at using his, so, you know, trade off.”

“How much of a dick?”

“Not terrible.  Just kind of arrogant, but not like, awful.”

A woman a few decades older approached Roan and his shoulders tensed.  Raven watched his jaw tighten too, although she was more interested in his cheekbones than his jawline.  Clarke pulled her phone out of her purse and frowned.  “Everything okay?” Raven asked, splitting her attention between Clarke and Roan's profile.  

“It’s Bellamy,” Clarke said, her voice tight.

“You guys still fighting?”

“He wants to talk,” Clarke replied.

“Go.  Call him,” Raven urged.  There was so much potential between them— and baggage, if she was perfectly honest— and she wanted her friends to figure out once and for all what they meant to each other.

“You sure?”

Roan was looking increasingly disgruntled while his mother spoke, which gave her an idea.  “Yeah.  Just tell me one thing— is Roan single?”

“Hasn’t had a girlfriend in years.  I’ll be back in...well, I’ll be back, okay?”

“Go,” Raven ordered, and tossed back her champagne.  

Clarke headed to find a quiet room and Raven squared her shoulders.  She edged past a couple of grey haired men who leered at her and tapped Roan’s shoulder.  “Hey babe, sorry I’m late,” she said, kissing his cheek and hoping his mother hadn’t noticed her earlier.

His eyebrows raised imperceptibly, but otherwise he followed her lead brilliantly.  “No problem,” he said easily.  “I don’t think you’ve met my mother yet.  Mom, this—”

“Raven Reyes,” she supplied, sticking her hand out.  His mother looked like she’d bitten into something sour, and Raven smiled broadly.  “So nice to meet you, Madam Senator.”

“I didn’t know Roan was seeing someone,” she replied icily.

“You and I don’t exactly chat,” Roan countered, draping his arm across her back.  He smelled nice— like expensive cologne.

“So what do you do, Miss Reyes?” Senator Glazer asked, clearly trying to stay in control.

“Mechanic,” she replied brightly, while Roan watched her with clear amusement.

“Mechanic,” the other woman repeated, like it was a foreign language.  Roan’s eyes lit up in happiness and Raven had to try not to laugh.

“Yup.  But looks like there’s a lot of important people here; wouldn’t want to keep you, ma’am,” Raven grinned.  “Nice to meet you, though.”

“Lovely to meet you too,” the senator said in a voice that had years of practice lying.

Roan waited until his mother was safely out of earshot and then raised one eyebrow.   “So tell me, Raven Reyes, what did I do to make you think I was in need of rescuing?”

“You looked miserable.  And you’re the only halfway fuckable guy at this thing,” she smirked.

His lips twitched into something like a smile.  “Only halfway?”

“By my standards?  Yeah.”

His gaze raked her body and she warmed a little. “So you’re a mechanic?” he asked, changing the subject.  

“Mechanic...al engineer,” she replied.  “I figured it would piss your mom off more if I didn’t have a doctorate.  But I can change your oil, so it’s not a total lie.  You?”

“I’m a lobbyist for my family’s oil company.”

“And your mother is a senator?  That sounds...incredibly unethical.”

“Oh, it is,” he assured her, and she threw her head back and laughed.  Clarke was right— he was a dick, but not egregiously so.  Perhaps even entertainingly so.  He grew serious and studied her again, stepping closer.  “But as fun as this has been, I have a meeting at the Capitol soon.”

“It’s been fun being your girlfriend,” she said.

He moved closer again, and now his lips were at the shell of her ear.  “If you’re amenable, we could always try again,” he whispered.

Raven bit her lip and backed up a step, because if she didn’t, she might just fuck him right here and now and Abby probably would frown on that.  “I might be...amenable.”

He did that eyebrow thing again and yeah, she needed to put about six feet of space between them before she pissed Abby off irrevocably.  Roan pulled his phone from his pocket, entered her number, and then slipped it back inside his suit jacket.  “A pleasure to meet you, Raven,” he said in that dark voice that _did_ something to her.

She flicked her eyes over his shoulder and noticed his mother glaring daggers in their direction.  “Your mom’s watching,” she murmured.

“Then we should sell this, shouldn’t we?” Roan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth.  It was like nothing she expected— gentle, almost chaste, except for the way he drew her lower lip between his at the last moment— and she wanted nothing more than to fist his lapels and drag him into a closet.  “Good evening,” he said, and then he melted into the crowd, leaving her to calm her pounding heart.

 


	62. The Pilot and the Mechanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Electricbluebutterflies requested Ice Mechanic and forceful kiss, and now they've got their very own WWII AU.

Raven ran her fingers along the flank of the plane, noting the bullet holes and places where shrapnel had torn chunks of the metal away.  She’d have to replace several panels, and when she climbed the ladder to the cockpit she found that the bullets had pierced it in no less than three places.  Between that, the wing damage, and the beating the engines had taken, it was a wonder Roan had made it back in one piece.  She’d be working for hours before he could even think of undertaking another mission.

Raucous laughter at the other end of the hanger got her attention as the jackass himself and the rest of the pilots left General Kane’s office and headed back to their quarters.  Most of the men bunked in the barracks on the other side of the runway, but Roan peeled off towards the officers’ cabins, his path taking him just past the planes.

Raven clambered down the ladder and followed him, not failing to note the angry red line that ran from his cheek to his temple.  At least one of the bullets was lodged in the back of the cockpit— that must have been the culprit.

“Hey, you!” she yelled, her combat boots stomping heavily across the ground as she tried to catch up.

Roan spared her a glance over his shoulder and that insufferable smirk made an appearance.  “Need something, Miss Reyes?”

She rolled her eyes.  Roan only called her that when she deliberately failed to address him by his rank.  For someone who liked to pull a lot of stupid shit up in the air, he was a remarkable stickler for protocol on the ground.  “I’m sorry, your Royal Highness,” she called, trying to catch up to his long, loping strides.

“I’m not royalty, Miss Reyes, just a captain,” he said when she drew abreast with him.  They passed three open doors before arriving at his.  “And my relationship to the royal family is minimal, at best,” he added sardonically.  Ever since they discovered that his mother was a distant cousin of a duchess the entire base had started referring to him as _prince,_  which was really just their way of blowing off steam.  After all, there wasn’t much to do in this country except drink rationed tea and try and shoot down German planes, and Raven only got to do the former. Roan opened his door and she followed him in, anger still pumping through her veins while he tossed his thick bomber jacket on his narrow cot and started unbuttoning his khaki shirt.

She rolled her eyes again and crossed her arms.  His eyes darted to where her jumpsuit gaped a bit at the top, but he said nothing.  “You tore up my plane,” she accused.

“Last I heard, that plane was property of the US Government.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my responsibility to patch her up, so could you stop trying to play hero?  What did you even do up there?”  He stripped his shirt and undershirt off completely, glistening with sweat despite the cool British spring.

“Gustus had one on his tail.  I dropped back to see to him.”

“You tore her up for _Gustus?_ ” she spat.  Ever since the bearded man had accused her of sabotaging his plane just because he didn’t want a woman mechanic she’d hated the son of a bitch.

“I should have let him die?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, wishing he didn’t have so many goddamn muscles.  It was _distracting._

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not my commanding officer, Miss Reyes,” he teased, stopping in front of her.  His clean shirt dangled limply from his hand, his head cocked challengingly.

Rage exploded in her belly and she laid her hands flat on his chest to push him backwards.  “You could have _died,_ ” she shouted.

Roan took an unsteady step back, but then the amusement faded from his light eyes, replaced by a dark, hungry look that did nothing to stop the way her pulse was jumping.  He closed the distance between them and caught her by her waist.  Then his lips were on hers, harsh and demanding and soft and urgent all at once, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth that she gladly granted because _her_ hands were climbing up his broad, smooth back, pulling him against her.  He broke the kiss, his forehead pinned to hers, and took a ragged breath.  “What was that for?” she asked, her finger coming up to idly trace the path the bullet had taken across his sharp cheekbone.

Roan curled his hand around her fingers and placed them over his heart.  It was beating just as wildly as hers.  “I realized when that bastard got a lucky shot off that if I died, I’d die never having kissed you.  I didn’t want that to happen again,” he said lowly.

Raven disentangled herself from him and smoothed her handkerchief back, attempting to recover something resembling her dignity.  “Well, now it won’t.  And don’t you dare bring her back in this condition again, okay?  That’s an order.”

He grinned, his eyes still dark.  “Yes ma’am,” he saluted.

“I have hours of work to do, thanks to you.  I have to get back.”

“I won’t keep you,” he said and gestured to the door.  “But Miss Reyes?”

She paused, her hand on the door knob.  “Yeah?”

“If you ever feel like scolding me again, you know where to find me.”

 


	63. The Pilot and the Mechanic (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second half of the WWII AU.

At first she didn’t hear the footsteps.  She was too busy underneath the car, but when Raven stopped trying to reattach the fuel line and heard the soft scuff of leather against concrete she rolled out.  “We’re closed!” she yelled, keeping a loose grip on the wrench just in case.  She hauled herself up and turned around, only to drop the wrench with a clatter.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” Roan drawled, crossing his arms.

“Not that hard.  My name’s on the building,” she threw back.  Technically it was  _ Griffin-Reyes Motors, _  but that was just because the stupid bank wouldn’t give her a loan without a male co-signer so Clarke had chipped in instead.

“California is a long way from New York.”

“The weather’s shit there.”  She didn’t feel like telling him that when she got back from England she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible, and Southern California was about as far from him as she could get.  She didn’t want to be around when he realized that what happened during the war was just an interlude from his real life.

Because governor’s sons didn’t marry women like her.

He was still staring at her so she crossed her arms and sighed.  “What do you want, Roan?”

“You.”

She hoped her face didn’t reflect the way her heart just stuttered.  “Well, you found me.”

Now it was his turn to sigh.  “I wanted to talk.  It’s been...too long.”

It had been two years and three months since he was reassigned to the base in Northern France, not that she was counting.  One year and ten months since she was sent back to the States, and one year and seven months since she left her old life behind for a town an hour outside of Los Angeles.  She opened the garage with Clarke’s help and bought herself a house (also with Clarke’s help, but she was paying back every cent) with an orange tree in the backyard.  She was alone out here, but that was fine.  It was a good life and there was nothing in it to remind her of cocky, handsome pilots who carefully chiseled away at the walls around her heart until she was aching and vulnerable.  

“Fine.” Raven wished she wasn’t in her coveralls and smeared with grease.  Even the scent of motor oil was too much right now, reminding her too strongly of a time she’d locked away in her heart.  She walked over to her bench and tore off a piece of paper, scribbling down her address.  “My place.  Eight o’clock.”

“I was hoping we could have dinner together,” Roan said carefully.

“Like hell I’m making you dinner,” she snapped.  Besides, the only restaurant in town was Gina’s diner, and Gina would recognize him right away.  She’d told her too much about him for their meeting to be incognito and she didn’t want to have to relive her heartbreak every time she stopped by Gina’s for eggs and coffee.  But her house was hers and hers alone.  Her turf, her territory.  She could handle him there.

“Very well then.  See you in a few hours,” Roan said, his jaw tight.

**

Roan found her in her backyard, glaring at her orange tree and nursing her beer.  “You didn’t answer,” he said, his fancy shoes crushing the dried out grass underneath their tread.  “I thought maybe you’d given me the wrong address.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”  The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying.  It was true, though.  She would run and she would hide, but she could never outright lie to him.

“You won’t lie, but you will ignore months of letters?”

She raised and dropped one shoulder.  She’d showered and changed into a high waisted shorts and a striped shirt that knotted just underneath her ribcage.  She’d left her brace in her bedroom, sick of the way the leather stuck to her skin in the hot weather, instead leaning on her crutch.  Raven had considered rolling her hair into the complicated style so popular these days, but in the end just left it down, flowing down her back like a sheet to dry.  “What else was there to say?  I don’t fit in your life, no matter what you want to believe. And I wasn’t going to wait around for you to figure that out.”

“And I don’t get a say in the matter?”

“Not really, no.”  She walked to the shaded porch and tossed him a beer.  “Why are you even here?”

“I told you.  I wanted to talk.”  The beer made a cracking sound as he opened it.

“No, here.  California.  Why did you come all the way out here?”

“My family is opening up an office out here.  International shipping across the Pacific.  I’m here to set everything up.”

“Your life is in New York,” she pointed out.

“You know nothing about my life anymore,” he growled.  “It’s been  _ years, _  Raven.   _ Years. _ ”

She knew he was thinking about the same day she was— the day before he left for France, the day he took her on a  _ picnic  _ like they were characters in a movie and not the privileged son of a governor and an heiress and a girl who grew up in a grey, crumbling block of tenements in a forgotten corner of New York City.  They’d laid in the grass under a tree and kissed until their lips were swollen, and Roan had teased her about the contents of her pockets— two shell casings, three bolts, and a washer, along with a book of matches.  He’d started thumbing the washer idly, watching it glint in the watery sunlight, and then took her hand in his and slid in on her fourth finger.  He kissed her knuckle, just a brush of lips, and then she kissed him before he could say anything else.  Finn’s ring still hung around her neck with his dog tags and she couldn’t bear to lose someone else like that, not again.  So she didn’t let Roan speak and the next morning she kissed him goodbye, the washer heavy in her pocket.  He’d promised to come back and her eyes burned with unshed tears because she knew he believed it.

But she’d buried Finn and watched Wick walk away from her when she refused his offer to stay and train mechanics instead of going to the front.  Even if Roan made it out alive, they didn’t have a future. And she wasn’t going to be the one left behind this time.

Except now Roan was standing in her backyard, his eyes furious, and Raven was still weak.  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse, and then they were kissing like they were back on base two years ago and he was leaving, taking a part of her heart with him.  She dropped her beer, the amber liquid seeping into the arid dirt, and he did the same.  Roan swept her into his arms, bridal style, and kicked open her back door, their lips still sealed together.  He found her bedroom easily and they found one another just as easily, like no time had passed.  Her bed was bigger than the narrow cot in his officer’s quarters and his body had a few new scars— each one like a dagger to her heart— but otherwise, it was the same.  His taste, his touch, the way they moved together; all of it was as if nothing had changed.

Roan curled on his side after, his face impassive even as he tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  “If you want nothing to do with me, just tell me.  I’ll leave,” he said.  “California is a big place.  You’ll never have to see me again.”

As always, words failed her.  All she knew was she’d spent two years telling herself she was fine, that she’d moved on, that he was part of her past and not her future, but now he was in her bed and her heart felt like the San Andreas fault.  Raven sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and opened her nightstand drawer.  Finn’s dogtags clinked together with the movement and she fished it out, placing it on the sheet between them.

The washer he’d given her, still glinting in the light, still a part of her after all this time.

“You kept it?” he asked, nudging it with his fingernail.  He sounded surprised, which hurt.

“Of course I kept it,” she said, striving for sarcastic but instead coming out soft.

“So why did you disappear?”

“Because your father was a governor and your mother’s practically royalty.  I don’t fit in your life, Roan.  I never have and I never will.”

“What if I don’t care?  What if I’d rather fit in your life?”

“You think your mother is going to let you be with me?”

“That’s my battle to fight.  And I’m more than capable of handling her,” he rejoined.  He took her hand and picked up the washer, fitting it carefully onto her finger again.  “And I can afford a much nicer ring than this, you know.”

“You’d better,” she said, and leaned over to kiss him again.

 


	64. Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested bellarke + "I was always weak when it came to you." Canon compliant through 3x07.
> 
> And super angsty, so you can't say I didn't warn you.

“You have no idea, do you?” Bellamy asked, staring blankly into the fire.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at her; it felt like reopening a wound.  “What it was like.” **  
**

“I had to go,” Clarke said brokenly.  She wasn’t looking at him either.

“I know you had to _go_.  I don’t know why you had to _stay_.”

“Bellamy—”

“No, you don’t get it.  You leave, and I— I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.  For months.  And I took it, because that’s what you needed.  But then— you could have come home.  You didn’t have to stay with her.”

“I did, Bellamy.  I know you never liked her,” she pleaded, her voice breaking at the use of past tense.  “But she wasn’t who you thought she was.  She was more, she was—”

“I know what she was to you,” he interrupted.  He’d known the second he found her staring blankly at the cave wall.  He’d seen that look before, after Finn.

She’d lost someone she loved.

Murphy filled him in on the rest.

“Then you understand—”

“Clarke, stop.  I know, okay?  I get it.  But you left, and I tried.  I tried so hard to be there for everyone, because that’s what you needed me to do.  So I did it, but god, I needed you.  I needed you and you weren’t there.”

She tugged her jacket tighter around herself.  “I didn’t know you needed me,” she said in a tiny voice.  “I never thought— you were always so strong.”

“Yeah, well, I was always weak when it came to you.”  Silence filled the cave, punctuated only by the hiss and crackle of their fire.

“We have to stop her,” Clarke said after a long while, and Bellamy didn’t know if she meant Ontari or ALIE or both, or even if there was a difference anymore.

“We will,” he promised her, because even after everything he knew he wouldn’t leave her side.  This was his punishment, his purgatory, his penance: he would stay by Clarke’s side until the bitter end, knowing how he felt about her and knowing she would never feel the same.  “We will.”


	65. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @stars-hollowed requested Bellina + "Things you said that I wish you hadn't" but I tweaked it to "Things you said that *you* wish you hadn't" because, well, I'm a monster.

There were so many things you said that you wish you hadn’t, so many times you could have stopped what was to come if only you weren’t so weak.

No one else can bear that burden.  It’s yours and yours alone.

_“You should stay here. Help them get those missiles ready to launch.”_

You told her that because you believed in her, and because you thought that was the safest place she could be— underground, hidden.  Someone else had your focus, another woman, hours away and perched precariously at the top of a tower, at the mercy of a faceless, deadly enemy.  You thought only about her and you didn’t spare a thought for the woman in front of you, and that was her doom.  She teased you about being a hero and you let her, because you were too stupid to see that she was the hero and you were the villain.

You could have said anything else.  You could have told her to go home, to not get involved.  You could have told her that you loved her, and maybe that would have been a lie but she deserved to die knowing she was loved, not that she’d been left to die by someone who was supposed to protect her.  She deserved so much more than half your attention.  She deserved to live, but you you sentenced her to die instead.

_“I should be there,” you complained.  “Then you wouldn’t be here with me,” she replied playfully and you gave her a reluctant smile, letting her think she’d won._

You should have left.  You should have broken her heart, because maybe if you had she’d be alive and hating you instead of dead while you hate yourself instead. You knew who you really were, deep down: a coward, a monster, a demon who does nothing but leave a trail of bodies behind him, but you hid that face at let her see a different one.

You should have told her the truth: you were worried about someone else.  You were terrified that you’d never see her blonde waves again, never share a secret look while others talked, never get to wrap your arms around her and know that she was safe.  You were worried about someone who left instead of the woman who stayed, and you should have admitted it.

Maybe if you had, she wouldn’t be dead.

_She gave you a present, kindly meant, and all you could muster was a lackluster “Thanks.”_

You should have told her that the Mountain was a graveyard, not a warehouse.  You should have told her what you’d done in the Mountain, what really happened, and not let her believe you were a hero.  You murdered innocents that day but you couldn’t bear for her to see your true face so you let her look at you like you were Hector.  

She didn’t know that you were really Ares, covered in the blood of your enemies and friends alike, driven to war by an impulse you couldn’t control.  You’re nothing but rage and death and destruction, but you let her think otherwise.

You should have kissed her thoroughly so she would know you understood her gesture, you should have genuinely thanked her and not awkwardly thrust her away.  It wasn’t her fault she didn’t understand, but you blamed her anyway.

She deserved better.

_“Don’t go.”_

You whispered that to her late one night as she reached for her clothes.  You should have let her leave, let her think it was just sex and you didn’t  need her.  You should have stayed silent and let her walk out of your room, but you couldn’t bear to watch another woman walk away from you.

You couldn’t make the other one stay so you asked her to stay instead.

You shouldn’t have.

_“Hey.”_

You said it almost shyly, so unlike who you really are, when she slid your drink across her bar and introduced herself.  You were surprised, a little taken aback that she wanted to talk to you, a little wary when she didn’t immediately recoil.  You were a monster, full of guilt and grief and rage, but she didn’t look at you like that.  She looked at you and saw the ligh, so you went along with it.

If you’d said nothing, if you’d just shrugged and turned away, she wouldn’t be dead.

You have only yourself to blame.

 


	66. Vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested ice mechanic's first meeting in canon. I hesitate to call it “speculative” since I’m 99% sure this ISN’T how the fight against ALIE will end, but it’s canon-ish, centered around the aftermath of bringing down the City of Lights.

 

 

 

 

Leaving the City of Light the first time was the most painful thing Raven had ever experienced— worse than being shot, worse than laying in the dropship dying alone, worse than surgery without anesthesia.

But leaving it the second time damn near killed her.

They thought something like this would happen.  That’s why she stood a safe distance from ALIE’s base while the Ice King snuck in and blew it to hell— Abby had warned her she might pass out from the shock.  Raven had argued for going in herself, because really, who would give a damn if she didn’t make it out, but Clarke had refused and she was calling the shots so there Raven was, standing on a hill overlooking the mansion, wondering if she’d explained everything well enough to Roan for him to find the main server.

They had spent two days together on the march to the compound while Raven explained every detail of the plan until Roan could recite it back to her perfectly.  He didn’t know what anything was, which oddly made it easier than talking Bellamy through disabling the acid fog.  Bellamy knew just enough to be confused, but for the Ice King it was a blank slate.

A blank slate, smart, and just handsome enough to get on her nerves.  He’d been amused by her annoyance from the moment they met, never quite baiting her but skirting the line with the air of a man who relished her anger.  Every conversation between them was laced with barbs and sarcasm, and he never backed down when she pushed.  He met every challenge she threw at him with easy grace and a knowing smirk.

She didn’t _like_ the bastard, but she was sort getting sort of fond of him.

In a way.

She heard a distant rumble and the roof of ALIE’s mansion shook.   _He did it,_ she thought, a fierce surge of pride swelling in her chest, but then lightning crackled down her spine and she collapsed, pain chasing more agony through her nerves.  Her vision wavered.  It was every pain she’d ever felt happening all at once, and the ground beneath her cheek started to shake before she felt nothing at all.

Raven briefly came to, her body jouncing limply over someone’s shoulder.  Her head bobbled in time with her rescuer’s strides, her muscles too weak to hold it in place.  An odd part of her wanted to laugh— here she was, being rescued by a king (how she knew it was him, she never quite figured out), but instead of him tenderly carrying her like a bride across a threshold the way men like him always did in stories, Roan had her slung over his shoulder like a piece of meat.

Somehow, it was fitting.

The next time she opened her eyes she was in a wagon, covered under a heavy pile of furs.  Even still she shivered, although the sun was bright and part of her recognized that the air was soft and warm.  A woman walked next to her— Ice Nation, judging by the scars— and noticed her waking up.   _“Haihefa!"_ she yelled, and then Roan materialized on a horse next to her, looking down with interest.  He pointed to the side and the wagon moved out of the way of traffic, rolling to a stop, and he swung down.

Raven tried to push herself up but every part of her screamed in pain.  “Careful,” he said lowly.  “You’re hurt.”  His light blue eyes bore a look of concern, which would have made her laugh if she wasn’t in so much agony.  

“That’s not news,” she grumbled.  “What happened?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up.  “We won, but the loss of the chip is causing side effects.  Abby Griffin wants you back in Arkadia.  Nothing permanent, but you appear to have a hard time staying awake.”

“Clarke?”  She was their decoy, keeping Red’s attention within the City Of Lights while they attacked from the outside.

“Alive, but— like you.  Everyone who took the chip is affected.”

Raven looked around, but all she saw were Ice Nation warriors.  No other wagons, no other wounded.  “Where are they?”

“We’re all going back to Arkadia.”  His gaze raked up and down her body, like he was looking for a pool of blood.  “I found you, so you’re my guest.  I’m taking you home, my lady.  I promise.”

Exhaustion covered her like a blanket.  “Promise?”

“You have my word.”

His vow was the last thing she heard before she passed out again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of a little ficlet series. I'll probably cross post this into a new story (with the same name) and continue it there.
> 
> Update: Now its own ficlet series, titled Vows.


	67. Stay Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested Pike going after Clarke and Bellamy helping her. Post 3x08.

Bellamy sat in his spartan compartment, staring blankly at a wall.  Of all the things he expected, it was never this— never Pike turning on their own people.  He still didn’t understand how they got here; how he could have been so blind, so naive.

A knock sounded on his door.  “Come in,” he said, his throat thick with unshed tears.

Pike shut the door behind him and crouched down, his face a mask of concern and sympathy.  Bellamy wanted to punch his teeth in, but settled for clenching his hands into fists.  “I’ve got some news,” Pike said gently.  “And it won’t be easy to hear.”

_ Nothing’s been easy. _  Bellamy wanted to snarl.  “What now?” he said instead.

“We caught some traitors trying to sneak past the walls.  Your sister and one other got away, but...we caught Clarke Griffin.  I’m sorry.”

Bellamy didn’t think it was possible for his heart to sink any further, but it did.  “How do you know?”

“That it’s Clarke?  You know I—”

“How do you know she’s a traitor?” Bellamy gritted out.  

“She was in the company of your sister, and she— she told me.  She announced she was here to bring me down and she didn’t give a damn if I knew.”

Bellamy swore silently.  That didn’t really sound like the Clarke he knew, but lately he’d been wondering if he ever really knew her at all.  Maybe the Clarke he’d spent three months looking for never really existed; maybe he’d just been so desperate for someone to believe in him he’d imagined the way she looked at him.

Even if that was the real Clarke, she’d never look at him that way again.  Not after everything he’d done.

“So you sentenced her?” Bellamy said, his voice hollow.

“She’ll die with the rest of the traitors at dawn.”

“Can I see her?” Pike had allowed Kane a visit from Abby, after all.

“Her mother is with her now.  You can see her if you like, but— Bellamy, I have to ask why you care?  You were years ahead of her in school.  I know you grew close on the Ground, but—”

“Can. I. See. Her?”

Pike gave him a long, searching look.  “I’ll make the arrangements.”

An hour later, Bellamy stood outside Clarke’s private cell.  Pike had given all of the condemned their own places, his version of mercy, apparently.  He nodded to the guards— Miller, looking broken, and Gilmer, looking smug— and Gilmer opened the door.

Clarke was huddled in a ball in the corner of her cell.  She wasn’t crying but her eyes were red rimmed, a grief shining through them that hadn’t been there when he last saw her.  Perhaps it was fear of her fate when the sun rose, but that didn’t seem like her.  It was something more, something that made him remember those awful days after Finn.

Part of him wanted to rage at her, scream at her for being so stupid as to announce her plans to overthrow Pike to his face, but Bellamy bore the responsibility for that.  He’d put Pike in power, he’d  _ trusted  _ the man, and now people he loved were going to die because of it.

It figured, really.

Bellamy sat down beside her and rested his wrists on his knees, his head back against the Ark.  “What did you do?” he asked, exhausted and sad.

“What do you care?” she threw back.  “You blame me for everything anyway.”

“Not everything,” he sighed.  “Not this.  This is my fault.”

“Glad you figured that out.”

He deserved that.  He deserved more, to be honest, but they didn’t have time to list his sins.  “I’m not going to watch you die,” he said.  “I won’t.”

“Then don’t come.”

“That’s not— that’s not what I meant.”  A kernel of an idea had occurred to him when he saw Miller on the door.  “You up for a little chaos?”

Clarke looked at him— really looked— for the first time since he entered.  “What are you thinking?”

“Miller’s on the door.  He doesn’t want to see you die.  I knock, ask to be let out, and the three of us overtake the other guard.  I can get you out, after that.”

“What about you?” she asked. Bellamy shrugged.  He’d probably die, but that didn’t seem to matter much anymore.  Maybe that was what he deserved.  “I’m not going to let you  _ die, _ ” she said, sounding more like his Clarke and less like whoever had sent him away in Polis.

“Let me handle that.  I’m getting you out of here.”  Kane was probably a lost cause— Pike had six guards on his cell, rotating every twenty minutes.  But he might still save Clarke, and at least that way he could die knowing she was alive.  He offered Clarke his hand and pulled her up, waiting for her nod before he knocked on the door.  

Gilmer opened, and Bellamy shouldered the door into Gilmer’s face, breaking his nose in a gout of blood.  Miller was on Gilmer in a second with his shocklash.  “Hit me,” Miller said when Gilmer was unconscious.  “I can pretend Clarke did it.”

Bellamy nodded and then sucker punched his best friend in the face.  Miller went down and Bellamy grabbed Clarke’s hand, tugging her behind him as they ran through the halls to the back fence.

Bellamy’s luck held— Harper was on rotation, standing near the back access point.  A commotion erupted behind them followed by an alarm.  The alert had gone out and they only had a few seconds.  Harper opened the door and Bellamy pushed Clarke through.  “Go,” he ordered.  “Find O.  Do what you have to.  Just stay alive.”

Clarke stopped and turned.  “You’re not coming?”

“I can’t.   _ Go, _ ” he pleaded, but she stayed, rooted on the spot.

“You’ll die.”

“Let me handle that.”

Suddenly, her hand was cupping his cheek— gently, like she cared.  It was the last time, probably, and he took a second to nuzzle into her hand.  “Stay alive,” she echoed.

“I’ll try,” he said, and she gave him one last burning look before sprinting into the darkness.

“What are you going to do?” whispered Harper.  

Bellamy clenched his jaw and looked at the guards running at him.  “Clean up my mess.”

 


	68. The Truth Within The Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested bellarke in the world of Mulan. I went with a sort of general "women aren't allowed to fight" world rather than Mulan specifically.

Bellamy surveyed the new recruits, peasants rounded up from the countryside to serve as canon fodder on the front lines.  The war against Mount Weather dragged on, month after month, year after year, and it was his job to get these men— boys, really— in fighting shape before Pike had need of them.  

Two years ago when this damn war started Bellamy would have befriended some of them, maybe invited them to share a cup of mead around his fire in the evenings.

He’d watched too many friends die that way, so now he held himself apart.

This batch looked even less promising than usual, scrawny, gangly boys who’d never had a decent meal in their lives.  Starving men fought fiercely but briefly, easily overpowered by their foes.  Only the blond one on the end looked well-fed, his hair sticking out in every direction as if hacked off haphazardly by a dagger.  There was something soft about his face but his eyes were hard and determined.  “You,” Bellamy boomed from atop his horse, pointing at the boy.  “What’s your name?”

“Clarke.  Clarke Griffin.”

“Why are you here?”

“In my father’s stead, sir.  He’s too ill to fight.”  The boy spoke softly but surely.  He looked too young to be able to volunteer, but they all looked young to Bellamy these days.

“You sure you’re ready?  Soft little boy like you, might not be able to fight,” Bellamy taunted.  It was his usual tactic— single a soft one out, challenge him, and hope he rose to the occasion.  If he did, the other boys would try and outdo him rather than be seen losing to a weakling.  If not, well, there were worse things in this world.  Like dying in a pointless war.

“I’m ready.”

“What was that?”

“I’m ready, sir,” the boy almost shouted.

“Hope you can keep up, princess,” Bellamy sneered and steeled himself for another six weeks of building boys up just to send them off to die.

**

Clarke faltered at first, not keeping up on training runs and being roundly beaten in sparring matches.  But two weeks in he started emerging from the pack, leading runs and learning to use his lack of height as an advantage in matches.  Their fourth week of training Clarke was the first to crack one of Bellamy’s puzzles, outwitting the rest of the recruits to be the first to find the flag.

He stormed into Bellamy’s tent a full six hours before he thought to expect them back and threw the flag in Bellamy’s face.  “You going to stop calling me princess now?” the boy spat.

Bellamy allowed himself a smile.  “Have a seat,” he said pleasantly.

“Not until you promise to stop calling me princess.”

“Have a seat,  _ Clarke.” _  Clarke sat, glowering, and reluctantly accepted the cup of mead.  “So what are you running from?” Bellamy asked.

Fear spasmed across his face.  “What?”

“You’re too young to be recruited or to volunteer for your father.  So what are you running from?”

Clarke looked down, like the answer might be at the bottom of his cup.  “My father is dead.  I couldn’t be under the same roof as my mother, so...I volunteered.”

“Your mother’s that bad?”

“No.  I just— I couldn’t look at her.  Not with him gone.  But I’m of age, I swear.”

Bellamy threw his head back and laughed.  “You sound like your balls haven’t dropped yet, kid.  But your secret’s safe with me.”  Clarke laughed with him then, a high, clear sound that did something strange to Bellamy’s heart.  “Just promise me something— don’t lie to me again, okay?”

Clarke chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment.  “I won’t.  I swear.”

**

Against his better judgment, Bellamy started bending his rules for Clarke.  He came to Bellamy’s tent most nights to share a drink, and soon other recruits started joining them.  For the first time in a year Bellamy got to know his men as more than just names on a list.  Jasper was an idiot half the time but fiercely loyal to Monty, who was a genius at explosives and traps.  Sterling was quiet and Atom had the air of a man used to women falling all over him, and none of them liked Murphy.  But Clarke— there was something about him.  Something Bellamy had never felt before for another man.

He wasn’t a stranger to men being attracted to other men, of course.  It happened from time to time, and with Miller as his second in command when he was at the front it was impossible to ignore.  But Bellamy himself had never felt this urge before, this need to be close to Clarke at all times and protect him from the dangers ahead.  

He was almost relieved when the orders came to shepherd them to the front.  Mount Weather had been making incursions in their territory almost daily so Bellamy kept Clarke close at hand, needing his eye for strategy nearby.  Somehow, in addition to feeling protective of Clarke, Bellamy had come to rely on him, to trust his advice more than he ever trusted anyone, even Miller.

Which was why Bellamy was seized with panic when they were set upon by a Mount Weather raiding party and Clarke took the lead, heading the charge into the oncoming cavalry without a second thought.  From there it was a blur of swords and screams and shrieking horses, a cacophony that almost drowned Bellamy’s pounding heart.

Just as suddenly as it began, the battle was over.  Sterling was wounded and Atom was down, Clarke crouched over him with a pained expression.  Bellamy knelt on Atom’s other side and Clarke shook his head sadly.  Wordlessly Bellamy handed over his knife and together they stayed with Atom as Clark eased him from this world to the next.  Their terrible task completed, Bellamy stood and helped Clarke stand.

They made it only three paces when Clarke collapsed.  Bellamy went to help him back up but his hands came away covered in red— Clarke had a gash in his side from hip to rib cage.  He was going pale and once more, panic took hold.  Bellamy barely recalled climbing on his horse, Clarke draped in front of him, and riding as hard as he could for the nearest village, praying that they weren’t Mount Weather sympathizers.

If they were, they gave no sign of it.  A woman at the well directed Bellamy to the healer’s cabin at the edge of the forest.  The bearded man lifted Clarke from Bellamy's horse as if he weighed no more than a child and vowed to do his best.  Clarke issued a weak protest, but the man hushed him.  “You can talk to your general later,” Nyko promised.  “I will find you when my work is done,” he told Bellamy.  “But it’s best if you do not come inside.”

What followed were some of the worst hours of Bellamy’s life.  He paced in front of the healer’s cabin, straining his ears for a sign that Clarke was alive and then wincing when he heard pained whimpers, a sign of life but also a sign of grievous injury.  The rest of the men waited with him, Monty throwing him odd looks from time to time.  It seemed like Monty wanted to say something but he never did, contenting himself with checking and rechecking his horse’s bridle instead.

Finally, Nyko emerged.  “General Blake?  A word,” he said.  “I have seen to your— your man, but the wound was deep.  It is best if he recover here for the time being.  I can send him to the front when he’s well enough to ride again.”

“Can I see him?” Bellamy asked weakly.  He still wasn’t sure how to reconcile how he felt for Clarke, but he knew he couldn’t leave unless he saw him awake with his own two eyes.

“Give me a moment,” Nyko replied.  

Bellamy waited until Nyko called him in and ducked underneath the lintel.  It was oddly dark inside, the windows covered and the fire low.  Clarke lay on a pallet in the corner, furs drawn up to his chin.  “Bellamy?” Clarke asked with a hoarse voice.

“Shh, kid.  It’s okay.  I’m here,” Bellamy soothed.  He crouched down and Clarke tried to lift his head.  

“Bellamy, there’s something you should know.”

“Whatever it is, it’s fine.  You’re alive.  Let’s take a look at you,” Bellamy said, because he needed to see proof that the wound wasn’t festering.

“No wait—” Clarke protested, frantic.  

Bellamy peeled back the furs and then dropped them in shock.  It wasn’t the wound— an angry, ugly line of blood and black stitches that ran the length of his side— it was what was above it.

A bandage, tightly wound, hiding his breasts.

Clarke was a girl.

A woman, actually, as even in his shock Bellamy took in the soft curves of her waist.  He looked up, bewildered.

“I tried— I wanted to tell you,” he— no,  _ she _ — murmured.  “I never meant to lie to you.”

Women were forbidden on the front lines, even as nurses.  Pike’s direct orders, as a matter of fact.  If Bellamy had brought her to the front, it would be treason.  But what’s more, she’d  _ lied. _   To him.  Bellamy had  _ trusted  _ Clarke, but it was all— all of it— a lie.  “You promised you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I didn’t know you then,” she protested. “I didn’t know if you’d understand why I needed to fight.  I was worried you send me home.”

Clarke may have had a point, but all Bellamy could see were her lies.  “I would have been right to,” he spat.  “We don’t need liars in our army.”

“Bellamy, I—”

“We’re leaving.  Immediately.  You’re not to follow us.  If you do, Pike will have your head and I won’t be able to stop him.”

Tears filled her eyes but Bellamy hardened his heart.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, and he meant it.

**

Pike kept him at the front after that, seeming to enjoy the rage that fueled Bellamy’s every movement.  He was unstoppable on the field and indomitable off of it, constantly working.  It was the only way to forget Clarke and the only way to convince himself his anger was justified.  He tried not to imagine Octavia doing the same but knew if his sister ever got it into her mind to join him she would do the same as Clarke had.  He hated Clarke for that, but not as much as he wanted to.

Surprisingly this batch of recruits lasted longer than most.  Sterling fell within days of arriving at the front but the rest lasted for months until one day, Monty disappeared.  He had deserted, something Bellamy didn’t think possible, but then Jasper followed.  Soon thereafter they started hearing rumors of a guerrilla band fighting Mount Weather on their own, hitting supply lines and vollecting intel that mysteriously appeared at General Kane’s camp.  Pike disavowed them as traitors, claiming that no true warriors would fight without his leave, but then word came that the band was led by a woman on horseback, a terrifying fighter with a blonde braid trailing behind her.  

That’s when Bellamy put it all together.

**

Clarke walked into their camp like a conquering hero six months later, Mount Weather’s top general bound and gagged behind her.  She shoved Cage Wallace to the ground and threw her sword down at Pike’s feet.  “Your war is over, General,” she declared.  Monty stood at her left, Jasper to her right, and behind her was an honor guard of men and women, all armed to the teeth.  Her hair had grown out from when he last saw her but she had a few new scars, including a thin one just under her eye.  Clarke flicked her gaze toward him and he lifted his chin.  She smirked at that and then turned her attention back to Pike.  “King Wallace is dead, his son captured, and his army in ruins.  You’re welcome.”

Pike toed Wallace gingerly.  He moaned but made no move to get up.  “You did not win this under my authority,” Pike replied.  His tone was measured, as if he was trying to determine how best to play this turn of events.  “If you and your band surrender to me, I will be lenient.”

“Lenient?” Clarke asked, cocking her head to the side.  “You will be  _ lenient  _ with us for winning your war?  Perhaps it is you who should be asking for my mercy.”

“Mercy?” Pike asked, incredulous.

“Mercy,” Kane replied, stepping out from his place next to Pike.  “You turned a border skirmish into a slaughterhouse, Pike.  I’m removing you from your duties.”

“Treason is not something to take lightly,” Pike warned.

“And we didn’t,” Bellamy rejoined.  He drew his sword and Clarke’s guard did the same.  He caught her eye again and this time smiled broadly.  She did the same and he moved to her side.

Where he belonged.

 


	69. Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested "You fell asleep on me because you hate flying. Now all the flight attendants are talking about how cute we are," for bellarke.

This was awkward.

Bellamy had just met Clarke  _ that morning  _ as they sat at the gate for the 10:30am flight from DC.  She was Lincoln’s best friend from art school, and as he quickly learned, terrified of flying.  She was cute, though, in a way that made him want to ask her out, or maybe just see if she’d be up for dancing during the wedding.  He figured he had plenty of time to work up to that, though, since they had four whole days in Jamaica together.  Sure, he had to get his little sister married in that time, but that left plenty of time for getting to know the brash-but-anxious artist, right?

And that still might pan out but now he had a more pressing problem: Clarke took an Ambien the moment they boarded the plane and now she was passed out on his shoulder.

Bellamy had served as impromptu pillow for his share of women.  That wasn’t the problem— he didn’t mind, really, and Clarke’s hair smelled nice.  (That thought probably made him a creep but so long as he didn’t act on it or tell her, he figured that mitigated some creepiness.)  The problem was everyone else kept referring to her has his  _ wife. _

“Does your wife need anything?” the flight attendant asked when she came by with drinks.  

_ She’s not my wife, just a woman I met this morning  _ seemed needlessly pedantic, so he just shook his head.

That was his first mistake.

Then the woman in the window seat tapped his shoulder and motioned to the aisle, so Bellamy rearranged Clarke so her head rested against the seat and her legs were out of the way before climbing out over her.  “You’re a cute couple,” the woman whispered.  Bellamy was speechless, and by the time she came back  _ actually I barely know her  _ seemed like a weird thing to say.

Which meant the rest of the flight involved telling the flight attendant a second time that his wife was fine and getting a second indulgent smile from her as she watched Clarke sleeping on his shoulder.  She was snoring, actually, and it was simultaneously annoying and adorable.

Clarke woke up when the plane touched down and Bellamy figured that was the end of it.  They disembarked, Bellamy a few paces ahead of her.  The heat hit him like a wave and Clarke jogged a few steps to catch up with him.  “Hey, so, I have a question,” she said as he slowed down.  “Why did that flight attendant tell me I’m lucky to have such a handsome husband?”

He stopped, his eyes big.

_ This was awkward. _

 


	70. Pride and Prejudice AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Space0bongo requested a Pride and Prejudice AU.
> 
> Inspired by the last scene of the 2005 movie.

“There you are, Mrs. Blake,” Bellamy purred.

Clarke looked back at him, her long blonde braid swinging across her back.  She was down to her shift, standing out on the balcony and enjoying the warm June evening.

“Were you looking for me?” she asked, a soft smile on her lips.

“I’m always looking for you,” he replied.  He placed his hands over hers on the rail and rested his chin on top of her head.  The grounds stretched before them, bathed in moonlight.  He still wasn’t used to the sprawling estate of Arkadia— and even less used to the fact that it was now  _ his. _   “I had a letter from Octavia,” he told her.

“Are she and Lincoln settled?”

“Settled and happy,” Bellamy replied.  Just a year ago them both being so happy had seemed well out of the realm of possibility— Clarke had conspired to keep Lincoln from Octavia, believing her to be interested in only his money, and Bellamy had hated Clarke with every fiber of his being.

Until Clarke had saved his cousin Raven from making a disastrous mistake by revealing her own broken engagement with Finn.  At great risk to her own reputation Clarke had shown Finn to be false simply to protect another woman who was nothing to her, and from there began the slow, painful process of Bellamy admitting he’d been wrong about her.  He had assumed her refusal of him at the Green’s ball was because she was insufferable and rich, not uncomfortable around strangers, and she had mistaken his own prejudices for proof that Octavia was not worthy of her best friend’s hand in marriage.

Sometimes, Bellamy thought about what his life might be like if he hadn’t accepted Clarke’s apology, if he hadn’t seen the error of his ways.  He might never have known what it felt like to have her in his arms, or the pure happiness of waking up beside her every morning.  

“Are you happy?” Clarke asked while he nuzzled at the spot just beneath her ear.

“Of course I am, Mrs. Blake.  Are you?”

“I am.  And I like it when you call me that, you know.”

“Why do you think I call you that so often?”

She smiled and tipped her head back for a long, slow kiss.  “I love you, Bellamy,” she murmured against his lips.

“I love you too, Clarke,” he whispered back.

 


	71. Entirely Too Subtle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @marycontrary82 requested "I've been trying to woo you for months but I'm being too subtle about it because you keep setting me up with other people" for bellarke.

Bellamy wanted to be flattered.  He knew that was the proper reaction to Clarke setting him up with a veritable revolving door of attractive women, but it meant he was utterly failing at his convince-Clarke-you’re-a-viable-dating-option mission, so he wasn’t.  Or at least, not much.

Roma was a stunner, but after one date he was a little confused as to why Clarke thought they’d be a good match.  They had nothing in common— nothing.

“Roma’s nice, though,” Clarke pouted when he stopped by her place after his date.

“She’s nice, but— jesus Clarke, her?  She barely finished high school.”

“Just because she didn’t go to college is no reason to be a snob.”

“It’s not that,” he explained, sprawling across Clarke’s couch.  “It’s that she was completely...uninterested in anything academic.”

“Again.  You’re a snob.”

“My life is school, Clarke.  I can’t date someone who says her favorite subject was _recess_.”

“She did not say that.”

“She might have,” he grumbled.  “And just for that, I’m picking the movie tonight.”

**

Echo was Clarke’s next attempt at finding him the perfect woman.  She was an improvement over Roma— smart, funny, legs for days— and they clicked.  She was interested in his research, or at least pretended to be, and Bellamy liked her sense of adventure.

But after three dates she found out she was being transferred to her company’s branch in Toronto, and that was the end of that.

“You could have a girlfriend who lives in Canada,” Clarke protested, reaching across the table and stealing a fry.  “You liked her, right?  You could make it work.”

 _I liked her but not as much as I like you._   Instead of saying that out loud, he just shrugged.  “I liked her, but— long distance is hard.  And we don’t know each other that well.  I just can’t, you know?”  He took a couple of chips from her plate and tossed them in his mouth.

“That’s fair.  But I’m not giving up on you yet, okay?”

“Clarke—”

“No.  Bellamy, you’re— you’re too good of a guy, okay?  You deserve to be happy.”

Bellamy looked down at the remains of his burger and swallowed down his retort.   _I’d be happy with you_ is not something you say to your best friend, especially when she’s pretty much throwing you in the path of any eligible woman she could find.

**

But then Clarke introduced him to Raven’s friend Gina, and hell, she was cute and funny and looked at him in a way that made him feel good about himself, so why not?

It was easy being with Gina.  She listened when he rambled about his dissertation, sometimes kissing his cheek when he was in the middle of a sentence just because, and they liked the same movies.  Clarke was clearly never going to be into him so he might as well give moving on his best shot.

But as things progressed with Gina, they got harder with Clarke.  She didn’t come over to watch netflix with him and suddenly she wasn’t around as often when he had a free evening to go grab dinner or just hang around her apartment.  He finally had a girlfriend— Clarke’s mission for almost the last year— but now he was losing his best friend.  It made him irritable (well, more so than usual) and snappish.  Gina noticed and called him out, and that led to an ugly fight that was entirely his fault.

He wasn’t even mad that she dumped him.  He deserved it.

Clarke showed up at his place the next night, pissed.  “You broke up with Gina?  What the hell for?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad.  We’re talking about it.  She was _perfect_ for you, okay?  Per. fect. Why couldn’t you let yourself be happy for once?”

“Because I’ll never be happy with someone who isn’t you,” he shouted before he realized what he was saying.

Stunned silence fell and Clarke stood on the other side of his kitchen, staring at him like he’d grown another head.  “What?” she asked quietly.

Bellamy scrubbed a hand across his face.  “Goddammit.  You really don’t know?  How I feel about you?”

“Clearly not,” she said in that same tiny voice.  “Because I wouldn’t have been setting you up if—”

“If what, Clarke?  If you knew I was in love with you?”  It wasn’t fair for him to be yelling at her like this, but he was exhausted and sick of pretending.

“Of course not.  Why do you think I’ve been setting you up?”  Bellamy just gave her a bewildered look.  “Because I’m— I’m in love with you too, but I didn’t know— I didn’t think you felt the same way and I thought maybe if I saw you happy with someone else—”

Bellamy didn’t let her finish her last thought.  He crossed the room in three strides to kiss her, and that was that.


	72. Just Ladies Being Frands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon having a rough time at work requested Raven, Clarke, and Octavia being friends.

“I hate my job,” Raven sighed.  She had her feet stretched out on Clarke’s coffee table and tossed back the rest of her beer.

“I told you not to sleep with Wick,” Octavia countered.  “Sex with a coworker just makes things more complicated.”

“Says the girl who slept with her boss like two weeks into her job,” Raven snarked.

“Yeah, but what Lincoln and I have is true love.  You and Wick just had a lot of chemistry and conflicting goals.”

“I don’t think Wick is her problem, though,” Clarke chimed in, returning from their kitchen with three more beers.

“Oh?  What is my problem?” Raven asked archly.

“Your problem is that you’re not challenged enough there.”  Clarke cracked her beer open and sat down cross legged next to her.  “You’re bored.”

“So?”  

“So, you need to find a place that challenges you.”

Raven shrugged.  “What if that doesn’t exist?”

“You really think it doesn’t?” Octavia asked.  

“What about Sinclair?  Isn’t he starting a company?” Clarke suggested.  Sinclair was Raven’s mechanical engineering advisor in college— she’d worked with him as a research assistant for a summer, and he’d recently left academia to found a tech company.

“Yeah, but it’s a start up.”  Raven liked the idea of throwing caution to the wind and jumping in at the ground floor, but that meant risking a stable job and paycheck.  When you grow up poor leaving something like that--stability and reliability— seems like the height of irresponsibility.  “There’s no guarantee that it will work.”

“Do you think you’d have a hard time getting a new job if it crashes?” Octavia asked.

“Me?  Never,” Raven bragged.  A bubble of hope appeared in her chest.  “I just might go broke in the mean time.”

“So I cover your rent for a few months,” Clarke said with a shrug.  “I can handle that.  It’d be worth it to see you happy.”

Raven stared at her and then launched herself across the couch to tackle her in a hug.  “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Now I’m feeling left out,” Octavia whined, and got up from the floor to join in, hugging Clarke from behind and wrapping her arms all the way around to Raven.  “There.  That’s better,” she said into Clarke’s hair.

And she was right.


	73. Waiting For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @peetaspikelets requested bellarke in labor, preferably in a canon au.

Bellamy wasn’t supposed to be this nervous.  That was not his role in all this— he was supposed to be the calm one and be there for Clarke.  But instead, she was the one soothing him in between pained breaths and grunts.  “This is totally normal; everything’s fine,” Abby assured them both from where she crouched between Clarke’s legs.  

“See?” Clarke grunted.  “It’s fine.”

“I know,” he told her.  He thought he’d been doing better at hiding his nerves, but Clarke brushed a curl back from his forehead and cupped his cheek in her hand.  Bellamy kissed her palm and squeezed her other hand.  “I’m okay, I promise,” he lied.

“Clarke, honey, you ready?” Abby asked.

“Yeah,” she wheezed.  “Bellamy?”

He laughed.  “It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not,” he pointed out.

“Clarke, I need you to push, okay?” Abby ordered.

The pressure on his hands increased and Clarke stopped fretting over him.  For the next hour she moaned and bit back screams while her mother encouraged her and Bellamy stroked her hair.  Sometimes she would have to stop and breathe, and he would press his forehead to her temple and whisper in her ear, reminding her of how much he loved her just in case she’d forgotten in the last five minutes.

Clarke let out a weak chuckle at that.  “I couldn’t forget,” she told him, looking up from her bed, pale and sweaty and wan but more beautiful than he could remember her being.  “Ever.” He looked into her bright blue eyes as she screwed her face up, and then she was pushing with every muscle in her body and Abby was exclaiming happily.

“It’s a boy,” Abby cried..

Clarke laughed, tears of joy and pain tracking down her cheeks.  “It’s a boy,” she repeated.  “Bellamy—”

“It’s a boy,” he finished, his heart racing.  

Abby wiped him off with a blanket and then wrapped him in a clean one, setting him on Clarke’s chest.  The umbilical cord kept pulsing, still linked to her heart, but their eyes were on their son.  He had a thatch of dark hair and his skin was more red than olive, but he had Clarke’s chin and nose.  His eyes were barely open and he peered up at them, just as confused as they were awed.  “Hi there,” Clarke said in a silly high pitched voice.  “Hi there sweetie.”

Bellamy choked back a sob and climbed onto the bed, one arm around Clarke and the other underneath the tiny bundle she held in her arms.  “Hey there,” he echoed.  “We’ve— we’ve been waiting on you.”

Clarke laughed at that but didn’t look up.  Abby had put her due date at about two weeks prior, and ever since that day came and went with nothing more than Braxton-Hicks Clarke had been a holy terror, desperate to be finished with the pregnancy.  (Bellamy had been secretly grateful for the extra time but hadn’t been dumb enough to tell her that.)

“So what do you think?” Clarke asked.

“He’s perfect.”

“No, I mean— a name.”

“I thought we decided,” Bellamy said.  Abby was still moving around in the background, but it was like they were the only three people in the world.  “You still like it?”

“We’ll see if he does.  What do you think, Jacob?  Do you like your name?”

Their son blinked placidly and both of them laughed.  “I think he does,” Bellamy said.

“Mom?” Clarke asked.  Abby smiled tearily and nodded and Clarke looked back down.  “Then that’s it.  Welcome to the world, Jacob Griffin Blake.  We’ve been waiting for you.”

 


	74. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @hysterical-for-joshifer requested Bellamy comforting Clarke after Lexa's death. Set vaguely post 3x08.
> 
> And a lot of angst, so don't say I didn't warn you.

When Bellamy was younger, there was an awful, secret part of him that wished Octavia would be found and his mother caught, just so he didn’t have to live in fear anymore.  He could move in with the kids in the Care Home, those unlucky few whose parents were criminals or not worth the medicine it would take to save, and have friends and live normally.  He didn’t mean it— not really— but sometimes, when he was sick of having to share his rations, he would think it.

Years later, he always wondered if he’d subconsciously meant for Octavia to be caught.  He knew that he hadn’t, but there was always a tiny voice inside him pointing out that maybe he’d wished it true.

And here he was, wondering if somehow he’d done it again, because he’d wished for Lexa’s death a hundred times, and that was only since Gina died.  He’d probably imagined Lexa’s death millions of times if you took into account when he only knew of her as the Commander, a shadowy figure marshaling her forces to attack the Dropship.

He wanted her dead, sure.  But not like this.

Not if it meant Clarke huddled against a cave wall, sobbing like her heart was broken.  Because it was— broken by Lexa’s death, the very thing he’d selfishly prayed for for months.  “I got her out of there,” Murphy said with a shrug at odds with how worried he looked.  “You’re the one that can put her back together.  She won’t listen to me.”

Bellamy fought down the pain that resurfaced with Murphy’s words, because the implication— that he knew Clarke best— just made her pain that much harder for him to understand.  Because he had thought he knew her, knew her better than he knew himself.  But this?  Loving someone who’d done so much to harm his people?  Who’d forced their hands at Mount Weather?  Who thought killing one woman would make up for losing most of Farm Station?  For Gina?  He couldn’t understand this, and for the hundredth time since that day he handcuffed her, Bellamy wondered if he ever really knew Clarke Griffin at all.

But they needed her and her sobs were like daggers in his chest, so he sat down next to her and rested his head against the cave wall.  “I know you hated her,” Clarke gulped.  “I know you don’t— you don’t understand.”

“I didn’t know her,” he correctly gently.  That much was true— Lexa wasn’t a woman to him, just a figurehead, an empty vessel into which he could pour his hatred.  

“She wouldn’t leave without this,” Murphy murmured, handing over a piece of paper.  There was Lexa, delicately sketched by a hand he somehow recognized as Clarke's.  She was sleeping; peaceful.  He'd never thought of her that way before.  But Clarke had.  She'd seen Lexa, and she'd loved her.

“She was beautiful,” Bellamy said, but when Clarke wouldn’t look at him he folded it up and placed it in his inner pocket for safekeeping.  “But I never knew her like you did.  So tell me about her.”  Clarke looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed and glassy.  “It’s what you’re scared of, right?  Forgetting her.  Forgetting what she looked like, or what she sounded like when she laughed.”  He remembered the first time he realized he couldn’t recall his mother’s smile and how it felt like a penance for him.  

He didn’t want that for Clarke.  

“I have a good memory,” he continued.  “So tell me about her, and— I can help you remember.  Later.”  It wasn’t an empty boast— he used to spend his days memorizing everything that he saw and learned so he could tell Octavia, to try and keep her mind busy and keep her from climbing the walls.

This would be harder, but he would do it if it meant helping Clarke crawl out of this pit of grief.  “You want to know?” Clarke asked, her breathing uneven.

“I do,” he told her, and it wasn’t a lie.  Not entirely.  “Whenever you’re ready.”


	75. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested ice mechanic and one of them losing their composure while on camera.

“Okay, so I’ll start with a few softball questions about where you grew up and what inspired you, that sort of thing, and then we’ll start launching into the more technical aspects of your app, okay?” Octavia Blake explained as she took her seat.

“Um, yeah,” Raven mumbled, flinching a little as someone adjusted the microphone pinned to her shirt and someone else straightened her pony tail.

“Just look at me, or if you’re really nervous look over my shoulder.  Don’t look at the camera, you’ll freeze.  But if you do, we can edit that out in post.”  Octavia looked over her shoulder and conferred with the camera man for a moment, a bald man with tattoos and a mohawk and kind eyes at odds with his fierce appearance.  “Ready?” Octavia asked with that famous smile.

“I guess,” Raven muttered.  She hated this— absolutely, totally hated it.  But she was the one that founded the damn company, so she was by default the public face.  And being the public face of one of the hottest tech companies around meant doing interviews with world famous reporter Octavia Blake.  

At least this one wasn’t live.  Her first— and only— live interview had been an absolute goddamn disaster.  Raven Reyes was good at a lot of things, like karaoke and creating an app now worth millions, but while she was pretty damn sure she _was_ the new face of Silicon Valley like everyone kept saying, apparently, saying that shit on TV without blushing and falling apart was not one of her talents.

Someone off to the side signaled that cameras were rolling, and Raven started awkwardly replying to Octavia’s softball questions.  It wasn’t the full on meltdown of her first TV interview, but it wasn’t her best, and Octavia gently suggested that they take a break only ten minutes into it.

Raven huffed out an exasperated sigh and wandered over to the snacks table to try and eat her feelings.  “How’s it going?” someone asked from behind her.

“Roan?” she asked, turning around on her heel.  “What are you doing here?”

“Let’s call it moral support,” her CFO said wryly.  “Thought you might need a friendly face.”

“Yeah, well, if I see your ugly mug while I’m talking I’ll probably throw up, so good call,” she snarked.  

He gave her that little half smile that she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about.  “Anything to help.”  

Octavia returned and asked her if she was ready, and Roan squeezed her elbow in a gesture that was both comforting and unsettling in a not entirely unpleasant way.  “Ready,” she said, and oddly enough, she did feel a little better.  

Roan positioned himself just over Octavia’s shoulder and sure enough, this time, the questions were easier for her to handle.  She could look at him and seem like she was talking to Octavia, but it was easier somehow.  It wasn’t like Roan was her friend or anything— he was just the numbers guy, because she was good with numbers but didn’t have the time anymore— but he was someone she saw on a regular basis so sure, she could pretend like she’d tell him things.  He kept his eyes on her the whole time, steady and reassuring, with no hint of his usual smirk.

Almost like— well, almost like he wanted to hear her answers.  

As the interview went on, it got harder to talk to him for some reason.  She felt like she might blush, even though she was finally at ease with Octavia.  His eyes never left her but she found herself looking more and more at Octavia instead, because that was easier.  Less potent.

Because Octavia was pretty, but Raven was fairly sure she wasn’t going to start having fantasies about her and her blue eyes— because Octavia’s eyes were brown, not blue.  She wasn’t wearing a tight white shirt that was driving Raven to distraction, either.

Somehow, they muddled through and Octavia told her she was done, promising her that it hadn’t been the trainwreck Raven was fearing.

Raven looked up and found Roan still standing there, solid and patient, and wondered if she hadn’t just wandered into an entirely different type of trainwreck.


	76. Playing With Matches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested Bellarke playing strip poker.

As a child, Bellamy never played with matches.  He never shoplifted a candy bar, never snuck $5 from his mother’s purse.  Hell, he didn’t even drink until he was eighteen and safely at college, because he didn’t want to set a bad example for Octavia.

As a result, he hadn’t ever learned just how  _ fun  _ it could be to live dangerously.  He hadn’t understood the thrill of lighting a match and watching it burn down to his fingers, the flame flickering with every gust of wind.  Bellamy didn’t fully understand what it meant to live on the edge until right this moment, with Clarke’s eyes burning into him across the table he’d bought for $10 off some stoner on Craigslist, her chest starting to flush under his gaze.

It started, as most things did, with their pack of friends and alcohol.  Bellamy wasn’t drunk, not by a long shot, and neither was she.  But he took a sip of his whiskey and coke without dropping her gaze and let it burn on the way down.

Everyone had left a half hour ago, trickling out in drips and drabs to go to their own apartments or hit up Lincoln’s bar before it closed, leaving him and Clarke alone.  They were playing regular poker when people started heading out, but at some point— maybe when Clarke shrugged off her leather jacket and threw it into their ever increasing pot— it had shifted to strip poker.

Bellamy was losing, but for the first time in the history of his friendship with Clarke, he didn’t give a damn.  Because he was down to his boxers but she was down to her jeans and bra, and he had a damn good hand.

“What are you grinning at?” Clarke asked with an arched eyebrow.  Bellamy just smirked until she rolled her eyes.  “Fine.  Lay ‘em out,” she ordered.

Bellamy waited until she set her hand down to display his, and Clarke groaned loudly.  “Your move,” he teased.

Clarke cut her eyes at him and stood, watching him carefully as she popped the button on her skin-tight jeans and slowly shimmied them down.  Bellamy scarcely even blinked, taking in her bright pink cotton panties that stood out in stark contrast to her black bra and pale skin.  “Wasn’t planning on anyone seeing these,” she said.  “Hence the not-matching.”

“You think I care?”  

Clarke took a step towards him, her hips swaying with the movement.  His eyes swept over her, from the griffin tattoo on her left bicep and down to the curve of her waist, and then lower, following the line of her legs to her green-painted toenails.  She took another step and then she was looming over him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.  “This will change things,” she breathed, her eyes roaming his chest and down to the waistband of his boxers.

He was rock hard.

“You think I care?” he said again, catching her hand and kissing her palm.

That was all it took— Clarke straddled him and captured his lips in a searing kiss, and his hands came up to grip her waist as she ground down on him.  She gasped when he moved to lave his tongue across her pulse point and speared her fingers through his hair, years of tension exploding in the space of a few heartbeats.  He moved to the edge of the chair and gripped under her thighs, standing up and hauling her up with him, not able to bring himself to stop kissing her for the ten seconds it would take to walk to his bedroom.

He’d never played with matches, but now he was more than willing to let the fire consume him.


	77. Flying II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everlarkanxiety asked for more of the "fake wife on a plane" universe (chapter 69), and I combined that with an anon request for bellarke + beach.

Bellamy looked out over the bay and let the waves roll up and over his calves.  The water was warm even though the sun had set ages ago; the bay a rolling expanse of midnight darkness, lit only by the stars above.  The resort was a ways down the beach, but Bellamy had felt like going for a walk— he didn’t have much to do the night before the wedding, as it turned out, and he felt a little lonely.

“Hey there husband,” Clarke called.  She was walking back towards the resort along the beach, still wearing the simple yellow dress she’d worn to the rehearsal.  He’d kind of stupidly thought she looked like sunshine in it, and when she’d winked at him while Lincoln’s aunt scolded them for not paying attention,  her grin was brighter than the sun itself.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” he asked ruefully.

“Nope,” she said brightly, sloshing a little water across his shins.  Bellamy splashed her back but laughed along with her, because he’d said _I didn’t tell anyone that, they just assumed and it snowballed_ enough times at this point.  “You ready for tomorrow?” she asked, her tone soft.

“Not really,” he admitted, because Octavia getting married was not something he was ever going to be emotionally prepared for.  It was odd, but he didn’t mind sharing that with Clarke even though she was still a virtual stranger.  He felt like she’d understand his apprehension, because it wasn’t about Lincoln— it was about losing O.  “But I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”

“Nope,” Clarke said again, teasing but somehow understanding all at once.  “But it’s getting late.  C’mon— walk me back to the resort?”

“I’d be a bad husband if I didn’t,” he said with a forced smile, but when Clarke laced her fingers with his and tugged him along behind her, it shifted to something real.  He pulled her back to his side and they walked together, the waves lapping at their ankles, hand in hand.

Suddenly, he was looking forward to tomorrow.

 

 


	78. Grimaces and Carrots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an anon request for Octavia giving Gina the shovel talk, and Rumaan requested some Blake sibling fluff before this thursday's episode.

Gina probably should have expected this— with the way Bellamy acted like Octavia’s personal bodyguard, she should have known it would work the other way too.  But Gina didn’t know anyone else with siblings, so she was still caught off guard when Octavia approached her out near the vegetable garden.  “So my brother,” Octavia declared with no follow up.

“What about him?”  Gina asked carefully as she rose from crouching over the carrots.

“You’re dating him.”  Octavia said and crossed her arms.  She had a muscle in her jaw that ticked when she clenched her teeth.  Gina knew that muscle well.

“I am,” Gina said, letting Octavia take the lead.  She looked the way Bellamy did the time Harper went outside the wall without her rifle: worried and angry about being worried.

“So it’s true.”

“I just said it was,” Gina replied evenly.  “Is that a problem?”

Octavia’s jaw worked like when Bellamy found Jasper drunk in the mess hall.  “Do you like him?”

“I’m dating him.”  Gina allowed herself a small smile, because Octavia looked fierce but Bellamy had told her about raising O on the Ark.  Any girl that looked forward to stories about moonrises that much couldn’t be that scary.  “So yeah, I like him.”

“He’s been through a lot you know.”

“So have we all.”

“No, like, more than the usual amount of shit.  Mount Weather— it was hard on him.”

Gina felt a little flicker of doubt, because whenever she asked Bellamy about what happened, he’d shrug and change the subject.   _I did what I had to_ was all he’d ever say, but something about Octavia’s tone implied that there was more lurking under the surface.  She forced herself to shrug.  “Whatever happened, I’m here to listen if he needs me to.”

Octavia’s lips turned into a thin line and she looked away.  “Whatever. Just— just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“You mean right now?”

“No, I mean— if you want out, tell him.  He can’t take losing anybody else.  Just— just don’t walk away.  And take care of him, okay?”

There was something else Octavia wanted to say.  Gina could feel it, simmering underneath all her concern and bluster.  But whatever it was, when Gina made eye contact and nodded Octavia let it drop.  The two women stared at each other in the late afternoon sunlight, and then with a jerk of her head Octavia left, that familiar Blake stride cutting through crowds of people as they went about their day.

Gina bit her lip to keep from smiling and knelt back down in the cool, damp dirt.  She had to admit, she liked the Blake family protective streak.  It was a new experience to be on the other side of it, but it was sweet.  A quiet half hour passed as she weeded before a shadow across her plot.  “Ready for dinner?” the other Blake sibling asked.  His voice was warm and his shoulders were relaxed, a strong contrast to Octavia earlier.  

“Ready!” Gina chirped, and let him pull her to standing.  He kept his hand wrapped around hers and she leaned into his shoulder a little.  “Octavia stopped by to threaten me earlier,” she teased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Well, no threats specifically.  But I was lead to believe there’d be pain in my future if I hurt you.”

Bellamy chuckled.  “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.  It was cute, seeing her try her hardest to be you.  She loves you a lot, you know.”

“I know,” he sighed, throwing his arm over her shoulders.  “But still, she shouldn’t have.”

“Right, because I bet you handled her dating Lincoln with grace.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed.  “I’ll still talk to her about it though.”

“Don’t,” Gina urged.  “Just let it be.  It’s fine, really.”

Bellamy kissed her temple.  “Okay.  But only because you asked.”


	79. Maybe (Just A Little)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> melika-elena requested: an ice mechanic halloween fic where roan goes as a pirate (wink wink nudge nudge) and raven like, sexually attacks him (it would also be kind of great if she had no idea she was "into" pirates, so she would be kind of confused at herself, but just rolling with it, OBVIOUSLY) .

“Clarke, your weird friend is here,” Octavia said.

“Roan’s not weird,” Clarke argued and handed Octavia her drink.  She was dressed like Cinderella, and Raven liked the juxtapositioning of the ballgown with her shoulder tattoo and the way she swanned around behind the bar like a pro.

“He’s a little weird.  And old.”  Octavia said, leaning forward and pressing her arms together to highlight her cleavage.  She was going with sexy cop this Halloween and Raven couldn’t  _ wait _ to see Bellamy’s reaction to it.  She hoped it rivaled last year, when Octavia went as a sexy nurse and Bellamy lectured her about feminism for an hour.

“He’s like, two years older than Lincoln.”

“Yeah, but you’ve  _ seen _ Lincoln, right?” Octavia replied.

“Who are we bitching about?” Raven interjected.  She picked a piece of lint off her peasant skirt and rearranged her shirt so it draped just so off her shoulder.  She wore this outfit every year—  _ all purpose wench _ , she called it.  She liked that it showed off her shoulders, and she liked that the black corset nipped in at her waist and gave her the illusion of an hourglass figure, and it was nice that the skirt hid her brace from idiots with no manners.  

“The pirate who just showed up.”  Octavia pointed towards the door and Raven let out a bark of laughter.  He was wearing a white shirt left unbuttoned to practically his belly button, and maybe he was ripped but the combination of that and the long hair and the black pants with a goddamn  _ cutlass _ made him look less like an actual pirate and more like a pirate on a romance novel cover from the 1980s.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Raven laughed.

“Be nice.  He helped me through Lexa,” Clarke scolded.

“So you banged?” Raven asked.

“What?  No.  He was just— he was someone who listened.  When— things were hard.”  Clarke didn’t talk about her breakup with Lexa much, mostly because of the Bellamy angle.  She’d ended up leaving for three solid months, and Raven only knew she was alive because she would text once a week and sent her rent money to Raven’s paypal account on time every month.  If Roan helped her through that— well, that spoke volumes about him as a person.

Also...the whole pirate thing was sort of working for her.  

Maybe.

Just a little.  

So when he came over to say hello to Clarke and introduce himself, she maybe flirted a little.

Maybe.

Just a little.

And an hour later when he approached her and struck up a conversation, she might have started playing with one of the necklaces draped across his chest.  And an hour after that when he brought his lips to the shell of her ear and asked her if she wanted to leave, she maybe had to bite back an enormous grin.

Maybe.

Just a little.

 


	80. In her own way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an ask by hotarurea on Bellamy not knowing or understanding Clarke and Lexa's romantic connection.

**  
**Bellamy shook his head slowly, disbelieving.  He felt like he was standing in quicksand and had been ever since Pike declared Kane’s sentence.  No one trusted him, and the people he was trying to protect hated him.  Lincoln was dead and Octavia would never forgive him, but for a split second when he saw Clarke, he foolishly thought everything would be okay. **  
**

But the woman standing in front of him, her hair still in grounder braids, wasn’t the Clarke he knew.  She wasn’t that awful day in Arkadia and she wasn’t now, because— because this was not possible.  He’d been driving himself crazy, trying to figure out why she wouldn’t stay with him in Arkadia, but in every permutation that he imagined, every explanation for her actions, he never once considered this.

Clarke _loved_ her.

She fell in love with the woman who had turned them into murderers, who had sent her best warriors to wipe them off the face of the earth for the crime of landing in the wrong spot.  The woman who ordered Finn’s death, who etched grief into Clarke’s eyes when she had to kill him herself or watch him be tortured.  The woman who made Raven scream, first in grief and then in pain when she was tied to a log, Lexa’s sword slicing down her arm.

That was the person Clarke loved, and that was the woman whose death was making her voice crack in sadness.  “Bellamy, I—”

It was unfair of him, but he turned away.  Scrubbed a hand across his face and risked another look at her, but seeing her there, so unlike the woman he— so unlike the Clarke he thought he knew, was like another blow to his stomach.  So he walked away.

Not far.  Just to the edge of the cave, because if he stayed there, looking at her and knowing what he knew, he might say something he would regret.

Footsteps approached from behind.  “You’re hurt that she loved her,” the Ice Nation king purred.  

Rage exploded in his chest and Bellamy punched a nearby tree.  “What the hell do you care,” he snarled, because this man was the reason things were so screwed up.  If he hadn’t taken Clarke, if he hadn’t left Bellamy bleeding and alone in an abandoned train station, if he hadn’t— if he hadn’t interfered, Bellamy could have taken Clarke home.  She would have been safe and she wouldn’t be grieving the loss of another lover that Bellamy just couldn’t comprehend.  He shook his hand, scraped by the bark, and refused to look at the other man.

“If we’re going to save our people, I need you to be working with her,” Roan said simply.  “You can’t do that if you’re nursing a broken heart.”

“Don’t talk to me about broken hearts.  I had—  I loved someone, and your people murdered her.”

“My mother’s methods were ruthless, and I apologize for your loss,” Roan replied.  Bellamy let his apology go unnoticed, his anger beyond words.  Roan let the silence hang for a few moments.  “But this mission will require you to trust Clarke, and you can’t if you’re too busy being hurt.”  Bellamy snorted angrily and sat down on a boulder, sucking on his stinging knuckles.  He would not dignify this man’s insinuations with a response.

Roan sighed and leaned against the wall of the cave.  “She loves you too, you know,” he said, apparently taking a different tack.  “She thought I was taking her to her death, and she offered to stop fighting in exchange for your life.  And she kept her word, meek as a mouse all the way to Polis.”

“She never loved me,” Bellamy muttered, the words wrenched from him almost unwillingly.  He thought she had, once.  Maybe not— maybe not the way he wanted her to, but he thought, when she left, that he’d seen something like a promise in her eyes.  He was wrong about that, just like he was wrong about everything.

“Maybe not,” Roan said with a shrug.  “Perhaps she doesn’t.  But I saw the fear in her eyes when she thought I was going to kill you.  She loved someone else, yes, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you too.  In…her own way.”

Bellamy stayed quiet until Roan left and Clarke approached him, hesitant and unsure.  He hated that she was scared of him, and he hated that he was so angry with her.  He didn’t want to be, but— Lexa.  The cause of so much of their pain, and that was who Clarke loved.

She would love everyone else on earth before she’d love him.  It was a selfish, awful thought, and he’d never say it out loud, but it was true.  Finn and Lexa— how she could love them was not something he understood.  Clarke sat down next to him and he shifted automatically so she would have more room.  She sniffed quietly, and he rested his hand over hers on her knee.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not really sure what he was apologizing for.  Maybe for not understanding, maybe for her loss, maybe for all the things he’d never told her.  Maybe for all of those things, and more.

Clarke swallowed thickly and turned her hand over, letting him squeeze her hand comfortingly.  Roan was right— they had a mission, and they couldn’t do what needed to be done if he was sulking.  He squeezed her hand again.  “I’m sorry,” he said once more, and the pressure on his heart eased slightly.  They would get through this.  

They had to.


	81. No Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested Raven and Roan talking about Bellamy and Clarke and their importance to one another.

 

Roan clucked his tongue softly and kicked at the horse’s flanks, and for the hundredth time since they left the dropship, Raven wished they’d been able to steal a rover.  Horses hurt her hip, and the rover offered a small chance, however slight, of having your own personal space.  Instead, here she was, her back pressed to the Ice Nation king’s chest, as a cold drizzle fell.

 

The first day she rode with Clarke.  It was nice for awhile, and she even managed to make Clarke laugh softly.  That felt good.  But by the afternoon sadness was pouring off of her, her grief too potent for Raven to handle, especially for someone like Lexa.  She didn’t understand her friend’s love, and she didn’t want to feel her grief, either— not for the woman that killed Finn.

 

Switching to ride with Bellamy was easy.  Bellamy hated the Ice King, so he jumped at the chance to sit behind Raven.  But by the time they stopped to make camp she was sick of hearing his teeth grind behind her while he silently worked through whatever the hell it was going on with him and Clarke.

 

Which brought to her today, the day she announced she was riding with Roan.  He didn’t seem to talk much, which she appreciated, and he wasn’t mired in sadness or guilt.  “You cold?” he asked, speaking for the first time in over an hour.  At her shrug he handed her the reins and unclipped his cloak, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest.  “You sky people aren’t dressed for the weather,” he scolded.  “And I can’t destroy the City of Lights if you die of hypothermia.”

 

“Good point,” Raven said wryly.  His chivalry felt weird— and like she was betraying Gina’s memory, even though she knew Gina would wiggle her eyebrows at her if she could see the breadth of his shoulders— but the fur was warm and it was nice to have a break from the chill air.

 

Up ahead, Bellamy’s arms were wrapped around Clarke and it sounded like they were finally talking.  Really talking, not just the stiff pleasantries they’d been dancing around for the past few days.  “Were they...together before her exile?” Roan asked.

 

Raven snorted.  “No.  Not like you think, anyway.  They’re just...them.  Always have been.”

 

“They were friends then.  Up on...the Ark?”

 

“Not as far as I know,” Raven said.  Maybe she shouldn’t be telling him this, but if Clarke trusted him enough to bring him along on this mission, she figured she could talk to him.  “Bellamy kept to himself and Clarke...she traveled in different circles than us lowly peasants.”

 

His laugh rumbled through his chest.  “So they met here?”

 

Raven lifted and dropped her shoulder.  “As far as I know.”  Talking about Finn still made her throat tight, so she decided not to explain their first few weeks on the ground.  “They’re close, though.  Have been for a long time.  Or were, I guess.”

 

She assumed he nodded, but didn’t look back over her shoulder to confirm.  “Love is hard,” he said, more to himself than to her.  Raven didn’t want to be interested, but she was, a little bit.  She decided against asking him to elaborate though, out of loyalty to Gina.  Or something.

 

“You think that’s love?” she asked.

 

“I know it is.  I’m not sure they know it though.”

 

“Bellamy knows,” Raven countered.  “Or he did.”  

 

“They’ll find their way,” Roan said.  “Sometimes, it takes time.  But those two— you don’t walk away from a love like that unless you’re a fool.  And Clarke’s no fool.”

 

There it was again— that tone that intrigued her.  “Such a romantic,” she teased instead of asking who he was talking about.  Or finding out if this person was part of his present or his past.

 

He laughed again, and she had to admit that she liked the sound.  “I’m a man of many layers, my lady.”

 

Raven chuckled and let him tuck his cloak more securely around her.  She still would have preferred the rover, but this wasn’t so bad.

 


	82. Glasses!Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Space0bongo requested Bellamy having a thing for Clarke in glasses, and I felt like writing near contextless fluff.

“What?” Clarke asked, looking up from her book when Bellamy shut the door to their cabin with a soft chuckle.  “What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, that half smile she loved so much creeping across his face.  “Long day in medical?”

 

“The longest.  How was the hunt?”

 

“Three deer and half a dozen birds.  Good haul.”  He toed off his boots and flopped down on their bed.  “Harper twisted her ankle again.”

 

Clarke sat up a little straighter and laid her bookmark down to mark her spot.  “Should I go?  I can—”

 

Bellamy stopped her as she reached up to pull off her glasses.  She only needed them for reading and then only in dim light, after all.  “She’s fine.  Your mom was wrapping her up when I left.”  He pushed himself up on an elbow and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.  “So stay.  And leave those on.”

 

“What, my glasses?”

 

“Yeah, those.”  He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then slid his fingers into her hair to draw her down to him.  “I like it when you wear those.”

 

“They’re ugly,” Clarke protested even as she dropped her book on the floor.  “And they’re just a reminder that I can’t read in the dark.”

 

“They’re cute,” he murmured against her lips.  “I like them.”

 

Clarke rolled and let him settle in the cradle of her hips.   She really didn’t like her glasses very much, but for now, she had to admit, they had their benefits.

 


	83. Like A Night In A Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rashaka requested a bellarke drabble based on John Denver’s Annie’s Song. It’s more inspired by the feeling of the song than the lyrics themselves, although the title is from that song. Speculative take on The Hug of 3x13.

Bellamy closed his eyes and allowed himself one breath to fully breathe her in.  His heart was pounding and aching and pounding some more, but Clarke tucked her nose into his neck so he gave himself two more breaths, each one bringing her scent into his lungs.  Her hair was soft under his fingers, her nose cold but her lips warm where they pressed against his shoulder.

He was broken.  So broken, and yet— here she was.  Just as broken as him, and still she found space in her heart to forgive him.  He didn’t deserve it.  He never did, not that first time with Dax’s blood on his hands and not now, with the blood of hundreds soaking his skin.  He would never be clean and he would never deserve her, but Clarke just clung to him like she was drowning and he was her savior.

Except Bellamy would never be her savior.  He destroyed things and she rebuilt them, even though she adamantly insisted that wasn’t true.  Once again, Clarke was believing in him when he didn’t deserve it.  His heartbeat started to slow, and while the guilt inside of him would never disappear— and he didn’t want it to, because without it he might become a monster again— he wondered if maybe he could bear it this time.

Because this time, Clarke was promising to stay.  She couldn’t promise him that she would be by his side always, and she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t leave— but she promised that she would come back.  Always.

And if he knew she was coming back, he could go on.  He wanted so much more with her, so much that would never come to pass because the gulf between them was too big, his sins too numerous even for her, but for now, her heart was beating against his chest and she was in his arms, promising to be by his side whenever she could.

And he wanted more, but for now, this was enough.


	84. N.E.W.T.s Are For Losers (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two to chapter fifty-one, prompted by an anon who wanted more in this universe.

“You’re late,” Clarke announced as he let himself into the Room of Requirement.  She launched herself at him, a blur of blonde hair and grey and green tie, and he was pinned against the wall with her lips on his before he had a chance to explain.

 

“Charlotte got a little overly enthusiastic at Dueling Club and I had to walk her partner up to Madam Pomfrey’s,” he finally managed when she dragged her lips to his throat.  Clarke’s fingers loosened his tie and he glanced around the Room only to discover that it was hardly more than a closet, with a narrow, empty shelf in the corner.  “Wasn’t this bigger last time we were here?” he asked, because last time, there’d been a bed.  He was sure of that, because he remembered how they used it  _ vividly. _

 

“We don’t need more space for what I have planned,” Clarke purred into his ear, grazing her teeth against his earlobe.  He shivered and cuffed his hand around the back of her neck to draw her mouth back to his.  Bellamy slowly explored her mouth with his tongue and Clarke arched against him, her hand sliding down his chest and skimming over his abdomen.  She had his belt undone and his trousers loose in record time, and then she was dropping to her knees.

 

“Clarke,” he groaned, but the moment her mouth engulfed him he forgot what he wanted to say, instead dropping his head back and closing his eyes.  Her mouth was hot and wet and her tongue was fluttering in a way that made him want to  _ die _ if she ever stopped.  He clenched one hand into a fist and tangled his other hand in her hair, the soft waves trapping him.  She bobbed up and down and he bit his lip, pounding his fist against the wall as he held off as long as he could, and then he was coming with a whispered warning.

 

Clarke stood to kiss him, his taste dark on her tongue.  “That was for earlier,” she grinned.

 

“I wish we had more time,” he breathed, his heart still racing.  “I don’t want you to get caught out of bed.”

 

“It’ll be worth it,” she winked.  She helped him tuck his shirttails back in and straightened his tie, rolling up onto her toes to drop a kiss on his nose.  

 

Sure enough, Kane caught them two corridors away, but Clarke was right— it was definitely worth it.

  
  
  



	85. What Do You Want Me To Say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for bellarke and "what do you want me to say?"

Clarke stared at Bellamy across the kitchen, her face red with anger.  His jaw was working furiously, his nostrils flared.  She still wasn’t sure how they got this way, how things with her best friend had broken so badly that they had been shouting at each other for the last hour.

It started innocently enough— or at least she thought it had, because one minute they were playfully bickering over Chinese food and then suddenly they were fighting, years worth of wounds and half-healed scars being dragged up and picked over like possessed vultures.  All she’d done was jokingly ask if she could stay in his guest room for awhile, because he had a real bed in there and she was sick of sleeping on Raven’s futon.  “We already half-live together anyway, and it’s not like you’d make me sign a lease,” Clarke had said, her mouth full of fried noodles, and then everything imploded.

They’d covered just about every possible topic since then, but Clarke still didn’t know what went wrong.  Bellamy crossed his arms and glared at her, and Clarke threw her hands in the air.  “What do you want me to say?” she bellowed.  “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to say you’re not leaving again.  I want you to  _ stay, _ ” Bellamy said, his voice cracking on the last word.

Silence filled the space between them, pouring in and thickening like concrete.  “What?” she asked, meek as a mouse.

“I want you to stay.  I can’t— I can’t handle you leaving again,” he said, and it was like all the anger inside him had fled, replaced by a crushing sadness.

Clarke preferred the anger.  “Why do you think I’m leaving?” It wasn’t an entirely fair question, since in their six years of friendship she had left— twice.  First to backpack around Europe after her father died (she sent postcards, although Octavia froze her out for a month when she returned because apparently Bellamy had spent the entire time she was gone worried about her), and then a year and a half ago, when Finn revealed he couldn’t propose to her because he was already engaged and then promptly died in a car crash, so she couldn’t even be mad at him for that.

Clarke left Charlottesville two weeks after his funeral.  She didn’t even take her phone, but she emailed Bellamy as soon as she decided to stay in Boston so he wouldn’t worry like last time.

She hadn’t planned to stay in Boston for more than a few months. Just enough time to put some space between herself and her past, but then Lexa happened and suddenly, going home didn’t have the same appeal.  Lexa didn’t know anything about her, or who she’d lost, or who she’d been, and Clarke got the fresh start that she had been craving for years.

Except in the end she realized that Lexa had fallen in love with Boston-Clarke: a Clarke without a home, without a family, without a context.  Being Boston-Clarke had helped her heal, but once she started to feel whole again instead of like skin that had skidded across pavement, Lexa started pulling away.  Lexa loved the Clarke she had become, but when she tried to meld the two they fell apart.

She’d been back in Charlottesville for two months, and it wasn’t like she was planning on leaving again.  She was just still trying to figure herself out— again.  It was cliche, but even though come home because she wanted to be Clarke Griffin, the girl who paints and had a large, messy group of friends and a mother with whom she sometimes fought but always loved, her re-entry had been hard.  Bellamy had had a serious girlfriend while she was gone, and while she’d known that, she hadn’t realized how much her friends had bonded with Gina.  Even though he’d broken up with her four months ago, Raven still met her for drinks and half of Monty’s stories seemed to start with “This one time, Bellamy and Gina…”  It made her realize how much she’d missed in their lives, and part of her wondered if they really wanted her back.  So she’d been stalling on finding a permanent place to live, not because she wanted to leave but because she didn’t know if they wanted her to stay.

Bellamy sank into a kitchen chair and scrubbed a hand across his face.  “I’m sorry,” he said, as if he was the one who needed to apologize.  “I just...can’t.  I can’t wait around for you to get sick of me and leave again.”

Clarke carefully crossed the linoleum and crouched down in front of him.  “I’m not leaving again.  That’s why I came back— to stay.  Because I wasn’t whole when I was away from...everyone.”  That last word was half a truth and half a lie, because she missed everyone when she was in Boston  but she missed him more.  The most, even.  She found she could be whole on her own but she didn’t want to be, because she was better with him.  She’d destroyed any chance of being with him by leaving— she’d realized that around the time she moved in with Lexa— but she came back because, well, she wanted him in her life.  In any way he would have her.  She reached out and took his hand between hers.  “I’m sorry I ran away,” she admitted.  “Things got hard and I ran, and maybe I had to do that for me but...I hurt you.  And I never wanted to do that.  Ever.”

Bellamy took her hand in his, still not looking at her.  “I know.  I shouldn’t have shouted.  But you…”

“Made a joke about not needing a lease, and you assumed I was planning on leaving.  Again.”  Her knees ached like this, but she wasn’t going to stand until he looked at her.  “I’m not.”

Finally, brown flicked up to blue.  “Promise?”

  
Clarke squeezed his hand.  “Promise.”


	86. Never You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation I had with @Rumaan and inspired by the sneak peeks for 3x11.

Bellamy closed his eyes and willed the tension headache to dissipate, but it was no use.  The pounding in his temples was there to stay.  He could hear Clarke and Octavia murmuring in the other room— the only two people he knew for sure he loved, and they both hated him.

Raven stirred on the bed.  “It’ll never be you,” she said, her voice hoarse from the screaming she’d done earlier.  Bellamy kept his eyes closed, because it wasn’t Raven talking.  She was secured and she needed to be guarded to make sure she didn’t hurt herself, but that thing inside of her liked to use her voice to taunt them.  It was his turn, apparently, but he wasn’t going to give it the satisfaction of a response.  “She can’t even look at you,” the thing controlling Raven said.  “She hates you for what you did.”

“Quiet,” he ordered, his insides turning to a writhing mass of snakes.

“You’re a monster,” it spat, Raven’s low voice turning cruel.  “Your sister will never forgive you for what you did, Clarke hates you, and everyone knew you never loved Gina.”

“Quiet,” he said again, even as he tried not to cringe as her barbs found a soft spot beneath his armor.  

“It’s funny,” she laughed, “Everyone in here knew that you were just killing time with Gina until she came back.  But she didn’t come back, did she?  She’d rather be a Grounder than be with you, and everyone knows it.”

“Shut.  Up.”

A smirk crossed Raven’s face.  “You’re pathetic, you know that?  You spent all that time trying to prove to her you were a good man, and the second she rejected you you went right back to being a murderer.  You saw her in Polis— that’s who she is now.  And she doesn’t want you.”

For a moment, Bellamy wondered how the hell ALIE knew about that, but then he remembered— Abby.  She’d been in Polis, and she’d seen the coldness in Clarke’s eyes when she sent him away.  ALIE was just trying to get under his skin, that much he knew, but unfortunately, it was working.  

Raven’s head turned to the door behind him and her smile deepened.  “See?” it taunted.  “She can’t even look at you.”

Clarke cleared her throat.  “I can take the next shift.”

“I’m fine,” he said, because he deserved whatever ALIE had to throw at him.  She didn’t.  But he still didn’t look over his shoulder at her, because ALIE was right.  Clarke couldn’t look at him, and he wasn’t about to make her.

“You need a break,” Clarke urged.  “I can handle it.”

“It’ll never be you,” it hissed through Raven’s teeth.

“Bellamy—” Clarke started.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and he could feel her hesitation, but then she left, leaving him alone with his demons.


	87. Round Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thelovelylights requested "I slept with you the other day and i didn't know we had a mutual friend and now we’re sitting across each other for brunch and it’s awkward because I ran out when you were asleep for Ice Mechanic."

A cheesy marimba tune assaulted Raven’s ear and she groaned, fumbling for her phone.  Her mouth felt like cotton and her head was aching, although not as badly as it could have been.  She’d stopped drinking when the dude with the hair made eye contact with her at the bar, because she wanted to be sure she wasn’t wearing beer goggles.  He looked kind of like a dickbag, but somehow it was working for her. **  
**

And work it did, because the night before had been…well, the best night Raven had had in a long fucking time.  Way better than a one night stand had any right to be, actually.  She almost regretted slipping out as soon as he fell asleep, because a round two would probably be exactly what she needed to knock the cobwebs out of her brain.

As a matter of fact, why did she leave?  She squinted blearily at her phone and tried to remember— she had left for a reason, she knew that.  What was it?  And why the fuck did she set an alarm?  It was Sunday.  She had no reason to go into the lab today.

Annoyed, she hefted herself out of bed and hobbled to the shower.  She was awake, so she might as well rinse off the smell of sex and force herself to be functional.  Maybe she would go into the lab, just to get a head start on next week’s projects.  The hot water felt good on her aching muscles, even as those aches reminded her of just how good it felt to have that guy snapping his hips against hers, and how she’d shivered when he nipped at the place where her neck met her shoulder.

She really should have at least gotten his name.  She knew where he lived so Monty could probably track him down, and honestly, he probably had told her his name but last night she’d had a goal and “learning things about him” hadn’t really mattered.  Raven wondered where his money came from— usually guys with that sort of cash didn’t have chests covered in tattoos.  Not that she was complaining.  Quite the opposite.

Raven was toweling off when the memory hit her: Clarke’s brunch.

_Fuuuuuuuuck._

That was why she set an alarm— Clarke’s birthday brunch was today, even though her birthday wasn’t until next week.  Something about her friend being in town for a job interview, and she wanted him to feel like he might have some friends if he got it.  That was typical Clarke, and unfortunately it was also typical Raven to completely space on that until she was very nearly running late.  Her hair still soaking wet, she pulled it into a ponytail as she hailed a cab.

Everyone was sitting down when she entered and hurried over to their table.  “Hey, sorry I’m late,” she said, and someone down the table coughed a little.  “Happy Birthday,” she added, brushing a kiss to Clarke’s cheek.

Clarke smiled and waved a hand.  “We haven’t even ordered yet,” she said breezily.  “And this is Roan.  Roan, this is Raven.”

Raven barely looked up, waving in the direction Clarke had indicated and grabbing her menu.  It wasn’t until she felt someone’s gaze on her that she looked up, wondering if there was something on her face, and then her lungs stopped working.

Apparently, she wouldn’t have to track her one night stand down, because there he was, smirking at her from across the table.  She shook her head slightly and instantly the smirk dissolved, replaced by polite interest.  “Raven, hmm?” he said and she had to bite back a smile, because apparently she wasn’t the only one who didn’t bother remember a name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

She nodded and kept her eyes on the menu, because now she was fucking blushing and yeah, that would not do.

But if he was in town for a job interview, that meant there was a chance he might be moving here permanently.  And she definitely wasn’t averse to a repeat performance, and if the way his eyes were burning into her were any indication, he wasn’t either.

Raven took a sip of her water and risked a glance at him over the top of her menu.  Roan gave her the tiniest of winks, and she decided right then and there that if he got the job, round two was definitely on the table.


	88. It Will Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anon prompt for bellarke after some time has passed and they've healed, where Bellamy has to ask Clarke if it's okay to kiss her.
> 
> Speculative post season-three.

Bellamy stuck his head into Harper’s hut, but she shook her head before he even got a chance to speak.  “Haven’t seen her since lunch,” Harper said, her fingers busy weaving a basket.  He was glad someone was doing that, because ever since the Sea People had taken them in he had found that his fingers were too clumsy for the work required to make a useable basket.  “Check with Miller,” she ordered, and Bellamy smiled as he left. **  
**

Miller was busy pulling in his canoe while Monty gutted fish on the beach.  “She’s around the point, by the bay,” Miller called as Bellamy approached.  His friend pointed across the dunes and Bellamy waved his thanks and headed across the dunes to the small bay behind their village.  It was too shallow for good fishing, especially with the tide out, and Clarke liked the solitude it offered.

She was standing in calf-deep water, staring out over the water.  There was one of Harper’s baskets resting up on shore, full to the brim with the seaweed that helped bring down inflammation and fought infection.  That was Clarke’s main line of defense these days and sometimes she went through a basket a week, but he knew she was grateful that their major concern now was just infections from scrapes and cuts.

Six months of peace, and still they felt like the were balanced on a knife’s edge.  Most everyone else had adjusted, but he knew she woke up every morning with the same worry he did: _what if this was the day it all broke?_  Her hut was right next to his, and he heard her cry out with fear and grief more than once during the night.  Sometimes he went to her, held her until she fell back asleep, and sometimes she did the same for him.

That was how they were now: partners, orbiting one another with an odd mixture of compassion and fear.  There was no one else for him, no one but her, but Clarke wore her grief like armor, keeping him out except on those black nights when she let him brush her hair back from her forehead and fight the demons she couldn’t.   He still wasn’t sure how to take the nights she slipped underneath the furs with him, unconcerned by the sheen of sweat across his skin.  Her arms would wrap around him and her lips would press against the base of his neck and those nights, he would let himself imagine that there was a world where that could happen every night.  But come morning, she’d be gone, and they would slip back into their old roles; co-leaders and nothing more.

Bellamy splashed out to join her.  “Kane radioed in this afternoon,” he started, but Clarke shook her head.

“Just look,” she said, and Bellamy obliged.  He squinted at the horizon, wondering what she saw.   _Boats?  A storm?_  They’d lost five huts in the last storm, so Kane had gone back to the ruins of Arkadia to gather more sturdy building materials.  If another one came now, they’d likely lose more huts, and lost huts meant lost days spent rebuilding instead of stockpiling for winter.

But all he could see was grey water and blue sky, both still and calm.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

A slow smile spread across Clarke’s face.  “Nothing.  Nothing is wrong.  It’s just— it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he agreed, even though his eyes were on her profile instead of the tableau.

She turned her head and the smile deepened.  Her fingers laced with his before he realized she’d moved, and his grip tightened around her before he thought to ask.  This was the first time they’d touched in the light of day for months and he didn’t know what it meant.  “I think it might hold,” Clarke said, and Bellamy didn’t know if she meant the weather or the peace, but all he could do was nod dumbly.

Because Clarke was looking at him with a light in her eyes he’d thought was long gone, extinguished when she destroyed the City of Lights.  She tipped her head up in an unmistakable invitation and his other hand came up to cradle her jaw.  His heart was pounding now, hammering against his ribcage so loudly it drowned out the soft crash of waves against their legs.  “Are you sure?” he whispered, his eyes searching hers desperately for a sign.

“I am,” she said, and captured his lips with hers.  It was everything he had dreamed of and more, and his hand slipped into her hair and she wrapped her arms around him, their lips moving together like they had been made for each other.  Every movement was like a choreographed dance, every second more perfect than the last.  He stopped worrying about the storm and let himself go, carried away by the gentle waves and the taste of her tongue.

The weather would hold and the peace would stay, or it wouldn’t.  He couldn’t control that, but with Clarke by his side, he could face whatever would come.


	89. Pinecones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lindaraquelita requested bellarke based on a story from this compilation: http://www.tickld.com/x/jaw/medical-volunteer-shares-the-funniest-stories-ever-about-his-time/p-2

Sweat trickled down Clarke’s back and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.  Working in the medical tent had seemed like a good way to get a free pass to the festival for the weekend, but she severely, severely underestimated the annoyance factor.

Because drunk and high festival goers were really fun when you were one of them and the world’s most annoying patients when you’d treated nothing but people on bad trips for two days straight.  She set up an IV for her fifth dehydration patient of the day and walked to stand by the fan to try and cool off.  “PINECONES,” someone at the tent entrance yelled, and Clarke startled.  

“What?” she asked and turned around.  A man a few years older than her with curly brown had two guys hanging off his shoulders— one a gangly guy with a sad attempt at a beard, and the other a clean shaven man with nice cheekbones and soft dark hair.  It was the latter who had yelled _pinecones,_  apparently, because he was now asking her if she’d seen a pine tree anywhere.  “Nope, no trees,” she said and looked to the sober-appearing one in the middle.  “What’d he take?”

“No idea,” he said, and seemed genuinely apologetic.  The taller stoner was combing through his hair and the speaker flinched away.  “But it’s safe to assume they both took it.  Usually if one does, the other does too.  They keep…well, Monty keeps trying to eat things he shouldn’t,” he said, gesturing to the pinecone aficionado.  “And Jasper was kind of freaking out earlier.  Kept seeing people in their tent.”

Clarke sighed.  “Well, I don’t do babysitting,” she started, but he shook his head.

“No, I know that— I just figured there should be someone a little more qualified than me to keep an eye on them,” he said.  “I’ll stay, and you can step in if— things take a turn for the worse?  I honestly don’t know what they took, and if it’s not safe…”

Jasper patted his friend’s chest proudly.  “This is Bellamy.  He’s my mom,” he explained.

Clarke found herself smiling and looked into Bellamy’s brown eyes.  “You’re his mom, huh?”

“Someone has to be.”

“He spent last night checking to make sure we had enough blankets,” Jasper explained, before getting distracted by Clarke’s neatly piled stack of gauze.  Bellamy yanked him away just in time and together they walked Monty and Jasper to a corner.  Clarke handed them water bottles and a couple girls brought their friend in with a sprained ankle, so she turned her attention to them.  

Monty and Jasper were cackling over something when Clarke finished with the injured girl and swung by their corner.  “Something funny?” she asked, and Bellamy shifted uncomfortably.

“He thinks you’re pretty,” Jasper said in a stage whisper, and Monty collapsed into giggles.

“We do need a dad friend,” Monty added.  “You’d be good.  You’re just as annoyed with us as Bellamy.”

“I’ll consider it,” she stage-whispered back, with a wink at Bellamy.  “What brought you out here?  This doesn’t seem like your scene,” she asked him, because she was a little starved for sober conversation.

Bellamy motioned to his friends who were now gasping with laughter, tears rolling down their faces.  “Someone has to watch out for these idiots,” he said.  “And I like the music.  Mostly.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clarke said, and for a few moments, they just smiled at each other.  He was handsome, and nice, and well, fuck it.  “My replacement shows up in about an hour, and I think these two will be okay by then.  Want to catch the last sets?”

Monty gasped audibly and Jasper stopped laughing to watch them with interest.

Bellamy’s smile broadened and he pointedly didn’t look at his friends.  “That’d be nice.”

A giant drunk frat boy stumbled in and Clarke had to turn away.  “It’s a date, then,” she called over her shoulder, and Monty and Jasper cheered.


	90. A Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @foghthatsme requested Clarke post 3x11 confronting Bellamy about what she overheard as to how he perceives their dynamic/partnership.

Raven and Sinclair were conferring near the back of the rover, debating on how to best fix the axle.  Bellamy had insisted on leaving Niylah’s in the opposite direction from the cave to leave a false trail, and while Clarke had agreed that it was for the best, that had cost them two hours already and now the rover would be out of commission for who knew how long. **  
**

Bellamy had moved a few yards away from the front of the rover, his gun at the ready, and Monty was covering the other side.  “You guys have this?” she asked, and Jasper, Raven, and Sinclair nodded in unison so she followed Bellamy into the underbrush.

He’d been avoiding her ever since they left Niylah’s and Clarke suspected she knew why.  She could still hear ALIE’s words in Raven’s voice, dripping with scorn as she accused him of being nothing more than Clarke’s knight.   _Too bad you were never that devoted to Gina_ , she’d hissed, and Clarke realized she didn’t even know who Gina was.  Sinclair had filled her in during their first stop _(Friend of Raven’s from Mecha Station; she was sweet)_ and Clarke was reminded once more just how much she had missed.  Bellamy had lost someone because he was trying to save her, so Clarke went ahead and added Gina’s name to her mental list of the people she’d killed.  Part of her wondered if Bellamy blamed her for Gina’s death too, but deep down she knew he would never blame someone else if he could blame himself.

“You okay?” she asked as she pushed a branch aside.  Like always, Bellamy shrugged.  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then kept scanning the forest, even though the scanner Monty had rigged in the rover had been silent for hours.  “I wanted— I wanted to talk to you,” she said hesitantly.  His shoulders tensed, but he nodded.  “About what she said back there— it’s not true.”

“What’s not?” he said tightly.  He still wasn’t looking at her, and Clarke hugged herself tightly to keep Lexa close to her heart.  The metal tin was cold against her skin, but it helped to ground her.

She took a shaky breath.  “That stuff about you being my knight.  You being a follower.  That’s not true.  That’s never what you’ve been to me.”  The words sounded clumsy and false to her ears, because Clarke could never really explain what he meant to her.  Words came easily to Bellamy in a way they never did for her, and she wasn’t sure how to tell him how she saw him.  He wasn’t someone she sent into battle, he was the person she needed at her side when the battle began.  “I can’t do this without you,” she said lamely.  “When I was in Polis, I thought— I thought I was doing what was best for our people.”

“I know you did,” he said gently.  His understanding hurt, because he’d known she was doing what she thought was right and he still disagreed.  She wasn’t sure how to get him to see that she didn’t want to be on opposite sides anymore.

“But they didn’t want what I wanted.  You’ve always— you’re the one who understands what they want.”

“And you understand what they need,” he said, and this time she couldn’t read his tone.  She hated that— she hated the distance between them now, even if it was her fault.

“Your bandage is coming unwrapped,” she said instead of the thousands of other things running through her mind.  “Let me fix that.”  She moved closer and rewrapped it, tying the knot more securely.  She’d noticed back at Niylah’s that he hadn’t tied it well, and she couldn’t risk him getting an infection now.  She could feel him watching her, but she didn’t look up.  “I need you, Bellamy.  Not to follow me, but to help me lead.  I can’t do this on my own.  I never have.”  She took his hand between hers and forced herself to meet his gaze.  Bellamy’s eyes were soft, and she hoped that meant he’d heard her.  

“Thank you,” Bellamy said, resting his hand on top of hers.  Her lips twitched into something like a smile and his did the same, and Clarke gave herself two heartbeats of peace before she pulled away.  

“I should go radio the cave,” she said, and Bellamy nodded in agreement.  

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.


	91. Pirate Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for Pirate!Raven and Captain!Roan. I proceeded to have way too much fun with it.

“Where’s the captain?” Raven asked and wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand.  She was panting hard and her leg was aching, but once the last few scuffles ended— and her crew all seemed to have the upper hand— they would be done.  All that was left was securing the captain’s official surrender, and they could set the crew adrift in the lifeboats and start bringing their haul back to port.  The crewman she was standing over shook his head, and Raven sighed.  She pointed her cutlass at his heart.  “I said, where’s the captain?” **  
**

“Right here,” a deep voice called.

“Wonderful.  If you’d do me the favor of officially surrendering, we can get this over with,” she said as she turned, taking in his Navy uniform and long hair, neatly tied back.  This one came from money, she could tell.  

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” he replied, and she noted that his uniform was torn in several places, his cravat spotted with blood.  He was a fighter, which was at odds with his upbringing— usually the rich ones were the easiest to cow, afraid to risk their precious skins.  This one was apparently of a different cut.

“Then we do this the hard way,” Raven grumbled and raised her sword.  He did the same, and they met with a clash that jarred her teeth.  She was tired from her earlier bouts and the captain was a master swordsman, and within a few minutes he was pressing his advantage and she was back on her heels.  Just when she thought she might actually lose— a terrifying thought, not to mention a depressing one— the captain went down to the deck like a sack of bricks.

Gina stood behind him with an amused expression and a cudgel. “He almost had you there,” she teased.

“I was tiring him out,” Raven lied.  Her leg was really hurting now, and she wanted nothing more than to sit down in her quarters and rest.  “What do you say, tie him up and and set him adrift with the rest of the crew?”

Gina shook her head.  “I found this in his quarters,” she said and tossed a thickly bound ledger over.  “He’s Azgeda.  His family will pay a lot of money for him.”

“Ransom it is,” Raven said with a grin at her First Mate.  “We’ll be rich.”


	92. Taking A Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested a bellarke Notting Hill AU.

Clarke ducked into the bookstore without looking up.  “Can I help you?” the man behind the register asked.

“Just browsing,” she mumbled, keeping her sunglasses on.  Better that he think she’s a weirdo with a hangover than recognize her and call the paparazzi.  She was desperate for a break, because sometimes being Clarke Griffin: Superstar was exhausting.

Fortunately the proprietor seemed content to leave her alone, and after twenty minutes she slipped her sunglasses off because his nose was buried in a book anyway.  The book selection was odd— mostly biographies and history texts, with a few travel guides thrown in.  Clarke pulled one off at random and sank to the floor, grateful for the peace and quiet.

She had managed to get lost in the book (about a married couple in World War I France) when a pair of scuffed up boots appeared at her side.  “We sell that, you know,” the man from behind the counter.  “You can take it home and read it in the comfort of your own home for…well, I can’t see the price, but I’m guessing less than thirty dollars.”

Clarke looked up at him, taking in his rumpled, curly hair and the plaid shirt rolled up to his forearms.  “Sorry, I was seeing if I wanted to buy it, and I guess I just…got caught up.”

He grinned, the sort of smile that Kane spent his days scouring malls to find.  “It happens.  And that one’s really good.”

“You guys have an…odd selection here,” she observed.

He sank down to the floor next to her.  “That’s my fault.  My sister keeps telling me to buy books people will actually read, but there’s Amazon for that.  People like bookstores for their character.  Plus, like half of these are my old grad school books and I have to sell them somehow.”

“Well, it worked on me, so you might have a point,” Clarke replied with a laugh.  He didn’t seem to recognize her, which was nice.  She liked this— it was like being normal.  She missed normal, if you can miss something you never had.  She’d been in the public eye since she was twelve, after all.  Kind of hard to have a normal life when everyone knows who you are.

“Sorry if I’m being weird, I just don’t get a lot of people in here.”  He sounded bashful and that just made him more handsome.  She’d be annoyed if it wasn’t working on her.

“What, with your wide selection of books about history, history, and…um, history?”

“Says the woman reading a history book,” he teased.  “I’m Bellamy, by the way.”

The lie was on the tip of her tongue— Clarke normally used her middle name in situations like this, on the rare occasion someone didn’t recognize her from her billboards all over town.  Ever since she was cast as Captain Marvel she couldn’t even get coffee without half a dozen people wanting her photograph, but she had apparently found the one person in the universe who didn’t know who she was, and suddenly, she didn’t want to lie.  “Clarke.  Nice to meet you, Bellamy.”

He grinned at her and ducked his head down shyly.  “I was going to run out and grab a cup of coffee.  Want one?”

“I’d love one.  Might even buy another book while I’m here,” she said.  

“In that case, you get whatever you want.  Any sort of fancy drink you want, it’s yours.”

“Don’t get a lot of customers buying more than one book?”

“That I’m not related to?  No.  Almost never.”

“Well, I’ll just take a regular coffee, but still buy another book.  You trust me here all alone?”

Bellamy pushed himself up and laughed as he dusted off his jeans.  “I’ll take a risk.  And if you like that one….here,” he said, and plucked another book off the shelf.  “I’ll be back soon.”

Clarke settled back against the shelves with the book he handed her and smiled.  With her luck he’d probably see her face on a bus while he went out, but for now she was going to pretend she was just a girl named Clarke, flirting with a boy named Bellamy.


	93. Useful Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @reblogginhood and @rumaan, because they too ship Wells/Anya and there's never been a crackship I won't climb aboard.
> 
> Yeah, you read that right: this is Wells/Anya, arranged marriage au.

The boy from Skaikru was not easily cowed, Anya would give him that.  Heda had been the only person who didn’t flinch from her scowls, but Anya’s new husband didn’t seem to mind them.  They rolled off his back with barely a mention, and while she resented the fact that now she had to speak the language of the mountain even in her own cabin, Nyko reported that his language lessons were coming along quickly enough.   _He’s a smart one, that boy_ , Nyko had said in a tone that made Anya click her tongue in annoyance.  She’d rather not have married Wells at all, but Lexa wanted an alliance with these people and this was how alliances were secured, so here she was, a married woman with a husband who steadfastly refused to be scared of her. **  
**

She strode through the village with her latest kills hanging from her belt.  Three rabbits were nothing to sniff at, especially this late in the season, but Anya had been hoping for a deer at least.  And a brief encounter with a panther had left her more torn up than a warrior should be, so her mood was even darker than usual.

“Three rabbits?” Wells asked politely when she kicked open the door to her cabin.  He set aside the herbs he was grinding and stood with a gentle smile.  Her husband seemed to have decided to dedicate his time to the healers, which was a useful profession but not one she particularly cared for.  In this world, you lived or you didn’t, and fighting against that seemed like a losing battle.  Anya did not enjoy losing battles.  “Those will make an excellent stew.”

Anya rolled her eyes and shrugged out of her cloak.  Wells hissed when he saw the claw marks on her arm, and when she turned to kick off her boots she knew he took in the long scrape along her jaw.  

“What got you?” he asked and turned away to rummage through one of her drawers.

“Panther.”

“Well, someone should look at that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Too late,” he said, and when she turned away from the fire he was standing in front of her with a vial of anti-infection paste and a bandage.  “I promised to protect you,” her husband reminded her gently.  “And if you won’t let me do that, at least let me take care of you.”

Anya glared at him, but he just raised his eyebrows and nodded to a chair.  She sank into it with poor grace and let him peel away her shredded shirt.  “I’ll fix that later,” she mumbled.

“You can sew?” he asked, gently dabbing at her arm with the ointment.

The sting of it made her grit her teeth.  “Of course I can.  Why wouldn’t I?”

“You just— you don’t seem like the type.  You’re a little more, um…into killing things.”

Against her better judgment, Anya snorted.  “It’s useful.”

“Ah, I see,” he said with a smile.  His hand came up to cup her uninjured cheek and he delicately turned her head to bare the scratch on her jaw.  Anya wasn’t used to being touched carefully, and she wished she didn’t like it as much as she did.  “So you like useful things.”

“What do you care what I like?”

“I’m your husband.  I want to get to know you.”

“There’s not much to know,” she grumbled, but once again he smiled that damn smile.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he tsked, and Anya felt the corner of her lips twitch into something like a grin.


	94. Useful Things (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Wells/Anya, because this is my life and these are my choices. (Part one is chapter 93.)

It was a narrow escape from the Mountain Men that broke her.  Anya had resisted even thinking about the way her skin felt when her husband accidentally touched her until she was moments from death, and then it was all she could think about.  She finished the Mountain Men in a sudden burst of fury and went straight back to her village, not even stopping to report her encounter.  It was a breach of protocol, but Anya had one thing and one thing only on her mind. **  
**

Wells.

She threw the door open the way he was always teasing her about and crossed their small cabin in three strides, startling him from where he was chopping roots.  He dropped the knife just as she took his face in her hands and kissed him.  Anya had been wanting to do that for months, needing to know what his lips tasted like but not letting herself admit she was curious.  But now, adrenaline pumping through her veins, she didn’t want to wonder anymore.

He tasted like the tea he always drank in the afternoons, and his hands came to rest on the curve of her waist after a beat.  It took him a moment to kiss her back, and that was when she drew away, worried that perhaps she’d misread his signals and lingering touches.  But his lips followed hers and she knew he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

Wells’ hands fumbled with the ties on her tunic and she huffed out a laugh as she stripped him of his clothes.  “Hurry up,” she growled, and he just smiled that sweet, open smile that made her heart clench painfully.

“No,” Wells said, and then she was laughing for real, something she had not done in years.  He laughed too, and when he playfully pushed her back on her bed (still hers; he had been sleeping on the floor since he arrived) she pulled him down with her.

He moved slower than she wanted, his touches deliberate and light.  Anya twisted until she was on top of him to speed things up, but he sat up, kissed her, and then suddenly she was beneath him again.  She let him win because she liked how it felt, being crowded against the mattress by his solid bulk.  His lips trailed down her neck and his hand parted her folds, teasing her until she was on the edge of screaming and then he was inside of her.  His thrusts were slow at first but she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and soon enough he sped up, pushing into her faster and faster until they were both panting and coming undone, their names on each other’s lips.

Wells collapsed off to her side and Anya wound her limbs around him, nestling her head on his chest.  “What’s this?” he asked, his voice rumbling against her ear even as his hand tangled itself in her hair.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” she admitted.  She didn’t like owning up to vulnerability but she felt safe with him.  Like he wouldn’t laugh at her for needing him right now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, and Anya smiled into his skin.


	95. Taking A Risk (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of my Notting Hill AU. Part one is chapter 92.

Night had started to fall by the time Clarke realized she’d just spent the better part of a day with someone who, as far as she could tell, had no idea who she was.  Bellamy had ordered Indian for them an hour ago (Clarke just conveniently had to go to the bathroom right as the delivery kid arrived) and she was sitting cross legged on his counter while he flipped the sign around to closed.  No one had come in the whole time she had been there, but he either didn’t care or was good at hiding his fears of running the least profitable bookstore of all time.  She draped her legs over the side and kicked her heels, waiting for him to come back.  “You kicking me out?” she asked as he returned. **  
**

“Just making sure no one else comes in,” he said and stepped between her knees.

“Good plan.  Gotta keep those hordes of customers away.”  She hooked her finger into his belt loop and tugged him closer.  Clarke tipped her head back and looked up at him.

“I live above the shop, you know,” he said as his head dipped down towards hers.

“Is that so?” she asked, their lips almost touching.

When he kissed her, she melted.  It had been the perfect day in the life of a normal girl, one who didn’t have to check in with her manager about possible dates and schedule a time for the paparazzi to “accidentally” catch her leaving her co-star’s house in the morning. She’d even told Bellamy she was an actress, and he decided she was the waitress-and-off-off-off-broadway sort without her prompting.  So she let herself pretend, and the role felt more natural than any she had ever played, especially when he coaxed her off the counter and up to his tiny apartment above the store.

The perfect day turned into the perfect weekend, nothing but sex and takeout and slightly burned eggs because she distracted him while cooking.  She learned that he had practically raised his sister, and that she’d recently married a man she met at work, (she was a cop and he was a social worker) and that Bellamy liked Octavia’s husband but sort of resented Lincoln for taking Octavia away from him.

And Clarke told Bellamy everything— or almost everything.  She talked about how lost she was after her dad died, and how strained her relationship with her mother had gotten in the aftermath.  It was weird to be with someone who didn’t know her whole life story, but it was refreshing too.  She fell asleep in his arms on Saturday afternoon, sated and safe and content as dust motes danced in the weakening sunlight.

She woke up before the sun had set fully, and grabbed his sweatshirt from the floor before she tiptoed down the rickety staircase from the attic bedroom to the kitchen.  Clarke could hear him moving around and smiled to herself, hoping for a repeat of that morning when he’d forgotten entirely about the eggs in favor of kissing down her neck.

“I’m fine with take out if you want to—” she started and then stopped, because Bellamy was not alone.  Another man about her age was standing in the kitchen, looking down his long nose at her with amusement.  

“You didn’t say you had company, boss,” the intruder grinned.

“Because it’s none of your business, Murphy.  Get back downstairs.”

Bellamy didn’t introduce her and she was grateful for that, and as soon as Murphy left Bellamy nudged his sweatshirt aside and kissed her shoulder.  Pretty soon she was perched on his kitchen counter with his head between her thighs, and she forgot all about Murphy.

Sunday morning, they were woken by someone shouting from the kitchen.  “Bellamy Bradbury Blake, what the living fuck?” a woman yelled.

Panic seized Clarke, memories of Finn flooding back, but then Bellamy swore under his breath.  “It’s my sister,” he muttered, grabbing his boxers and jeans from the floor.  “I’ll go see what I did.”

He left and Clarke quietly got dressed before she crept down the stairs, skipping the second one from the bottom because it squeaked something terrible.  She stayed on the last step, listening.  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?  You had Clarke Fucking Griffin in your apartment yesterday, and you didn’t think to be like ‘hey by the way your favorite movie star is now my girlfriend?’”  Clarke’s heart sank, but something seemed off— if he hadn’t told Octavia, how did she know?

“How many of them are out there?” Bellamy asked.

“Like five hundred.  I’m still blind from all the flashes.”

Just like that, Clarke’s heart cracked in two.  Bellamy had known who she was the whole time; he was just waiting until he had enough to sell to the tabloids.  And now, no matter when she left, she’d have to do the walk of shame in front of paparazzi.  It wouldn’t be the first time for her, but it was the first time in a long time that she’d bothered to trust someone.

Clarke silently stole back up the steps and scanned the bedroom, desperate for a way out.  And there it was— his tiny window, facing the back alley.  A fire escape led down to the dumpsters and up to the roof, so she shimmied out of the window and went up.  Her luck held, and his building’s roof adjoined the next two, and one harrowing descent on another poorly maintained fire escape and she came out from the alley a block away from the crush of reporters.  Bellamy was standing in front of his store, probably milking his fifteen minutes for all they were worth.  How could she have been so wrong about him?  How could he have been so genuine, so happy with her, and then do this?  She should have known better, but her heart was so desperate to be wanted that she had somehow missed all the signs.

Clarke took one last look at him and walked away, refusing to look back.  


	96. He'll Come Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested an alternate 3x11, where ALIE!Raven uses Clarke's feelings for Bellamy against her.

Clarke picked at her fingernails and refused to look at the thing currently inhabiting Raven.   _It’s not her,_  she told herself over and over again, but it hurt because she’d missed Raven so much those months she was gone, and it was hard to separate the hatred she saw in ALIE’s eyes from her friend.  Clarke had wondered if Raven hated her the whole time she was gone and hearing confirmation in Raven’s voice was like daggers to her heart. **  
**

Raven laughed from the bed and Clarke looked up involuntarily.  “You ever wonder why he went running to Polis after you?” Raven sneered.  “Why he left Mount Weather and Gina behind because an Ice Nation scout told him you were in danger?”

Clarke looked down the floor and tried to straighten the bandage Bellamy had given her earlier.  He didn’t know how to tie them but she’d let him, because she had thought he hated her and that gesture had given her hope, however fleeting, that she hadn’t ruined their friendship.  She swallowed and bit back a retort.

“No, of course you don’t wonder,” Raven continued.  “Because you’ve always known that if you need him, he’ll come running.  It’s why you left after Mount Weather, isn’t it?”  Clarke pressed her thumb into the wound Raven’s teeth had left to keep from snarling back.

“It must be nice, having him as a lapdog.  He’ll do your dirty work and leave you to go play Grounder Princess in Polis, away from the people you claim to love.  It was kind of hard to watch, you know.  I know you can be a heartless bitch, but I really didn’t think you had it in you to use someone who loved you that much,” Raven said, her tone almost bored.  “But I guess I was wrong.”

Tears stung Clarke’s eyes and a hand touched her shoulder.  “My turn,” Bellamy said, and she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

“Thank you,” she whispered and left, wiping away the tears that fell before he could see them.


	97. Taking A Risk (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion of the Notting Hill AU (chapters 92 and 95.)

Clarke heard the photographers go nuts before the knock on her front door, so she had a good idea of who would be standing there when she opened it.  But she still wasn’t prepared for the sight of Bellamy, holding a bouquet of daisies.  “You going to let me in?” he asked, his face tight with stress.   **  
**

She smiled back at him, the smile that made movie-goers across the world swoon.  “That depends, you going to sell me out again?”

“That wasn’t me,” he said.  “But the longer you make me stand out here the sooner they’re going to start putting out stories about our public break up, so maybe let me in?”

The smile still plastered on her face, Clarke stepped back and let him into her chic brownstone.  She dropped it the second the door closed.  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up here.”

“You could have waited for me to explain,” he countered.  He threw down the daisies on her endtable, clearly done with the ruse.  “I went upstairs, and you were…gone.”

“What, did you promise them shots of me in my underwear and fail to deliver?” she snarled and crossed her arms over her chest.

“That wasn’t me,” he gritted out again.  “And I would have told you that if you hadn’t disappeared.  How did you leave, by the way?”

“Window.  To the roof.  And why should I believe you?”

“Number one, because I would never, ever do that to someone.  Number two, because it was Murphy, my asshole employee who is going to be fired next time I see him, and possibly dead.  Number three…because I know it was just a day, but god, Clarke, that was one of the best days of my life.  Why would I throw that away?”  He sank into a chair opposite her and ran his hands through his hair.

She pulled her oversized cardigan more snugly around her shoulders.  “You didn’t know who I was, did you?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted.  “I thought you looked familiar, but I thought you were maybe one of O’s friends, or I’d seen you around or something.”

“I suppose I could have asked before I left,” she said, the anger leaving her suddenly, replaced by an ache.

“You think?” he snapped, and then sighed.  “I’m sorry, they’ve been camped out at my place all day, so I’m…edgy.”

“I’m sorry too, I— I should have realized it wasn’t you,” Clarke said, because honestly, until just now…she’d sort of forgotten about Murphy.  Apparently, the sex-haze had ruined her memory, but now she remembered the calculating look in his eyes.  And Bellamy seemed genuinely upset.  “I get why…I get why you wouldn’t want this.”

“What do you mean?” He looked up, and she had to look away.  He looked too vulnerable.

“You deserve a real life, not this…circus.  I get it.  I’ll call you a car.”

Bellamy stood.  “Do you— do you want me to go?”

“You hate this,” she said, because everything in her was screaming to ask him to stay, but that was selfish.

“Maybe let…me decide that?” he said gently, and stepped closer to her.  “This isn’t, you know, ideal, having people follow me around and yell weird shit.  But…I like you, Clarke.  You, not Captain Marvel, or…what’s your other big role?”

“Either Sarah, child friend of aliens, or Kristy, a small town girl looking for life and love in the big city.”

“Right, well, I haven’t seen any of those.  But you— you, I like.  We can work this other shit out, right?”  He took her hand in his and then she was standing just inches from him, looking up.

“Right,” she whispered, and when he kissed her, she believed him.


	98. Pirate Queen (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested ice mechanic and massage. (Part I is chapter 91.)

As a mark of respect to his high birth— and to make sure he wrote the ransom letter exactly the way they wanted him to— Raven had turned her quarters over to the Azgedan captain.  She moved her ledger into Gina’s chambers and slung a hammock on the opposite site of the cabin, and it would have sufficed for a few days.  But they were becalmed and the winds were stubbornly refusing to return, which meant a few days dragged into a week.  Rations were cut and tensions were high, and Raven and Gina sniped at each other a few too many times so Raven decided to hell with Roan’s privacy, she was reclaiming her quarters for the day. **  
**

“Don’t talk to me,” she ordered as she limped in, carrying a stack of maps with her.  Gina was sure they were just off a set of islands they had passed on their way out to capture their latest prize, and she needed to figure out if it was worth it to send out a scouting party.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said easily.  Roan was sitting on the floor to the left of the desk, his head resting against the wall.  “Still no wind?”

“So observant,” Raven snarled and sank into her chair.  She propped her leg on the little stool she kept under the desk for just that purpose and noted that Roan hadn’t moved anything.  At least he was polite.

“What happened to your leg?”

“None of your business.”

Roan blew out a long breath.  “Do you know how boring it is, sitting in here all day?”

“Does it sound like I care?”

He fell silent for awhile and watched her press down on her thigh as the muscle seized.  “Want me to do that for you?”

“No.”

**

The next day, Raven returned to her quarters to study the maps and this time, she let Roan help simply because she was sick of talking to everyone else in her crew.  The doldrums would do that to a person, and the captured captain was arrogant but at least he was someone new.

He offered to rub her leg again, and again she turned him down.  But an hour later he made a joke that made her chuckle, and it felt like a little bit of weight lifted from her shoulders just then.

**

The winds returned on the third day, but Raven went to see him in her quarters anyway.  Her leg was nearly frozen when she sat down next to him, and she didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes tracked her movements.  “Took a cutlass to the back,” she said in explanation, even though he hadn’t asked.  “Hurts like hell sometimes.”

“Can I do anything?” he asked and rested his hand on her knee.

Raven twitched her leg away.  “Are you trying to seduce me in hopes that I’ll let you go without waiting for the ransom?”

He smirked.  “No, I’m trying to seduce you because I’m dying of boredom.”

Raven threw her head back and laughed.  “Well, nice try, but I don’t sleep with prisoners.”

“So once I’m ransomed…?”

She winked.  “We’ll see.”

 


	99. The Battle of Bedtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kay-emm-gee wanted dramatic bellarke babies at bedtime, and I would write anything for my boo.

Clarke paused on her back stoop and steeled herself.  The moment she put the key in the door, there was no going back.  You’d think that compared to the craziness of an ER on a Friday night, her home would be a sanctuary, an oasis of peace and love.  That she would want nothing more than to be with her family, whole and safe and healthy. **  
**

You’d think that, if you’d never met her children.

She turned the key and for half a second, she heard nothing.  But just as her heart started to soar, she heard it:

A shriek, happy but piercing, carried downstairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen.  “No Daddy, no!” Rory screamed.  “You’re supposed to be the River Demon!”

Clarke sighed, shook her head ruefully, and set down her purse.  She jogged up the stairs and there she found her husband, his shirt damp from bathtime splashes, standing at one end of the hallway.  Rory and her little brother were standing at the other end, stark naked and giggling.  There was a small pile of towels in between them, and Bellamy looked over his shoulder.  “How was work?” he asked, and she brushed a kiss to his cheek.

Her response was interrupted by two delighted squeals, and the kids darted down the hall to cling to her legs.  She hefted Jacob up onto her hip and Bellamy picked up Rory so Clarke could kiss her hello.  “You stinkers are supposed to be in bed,” she mock-reprimanded.

“No, it’s time to play River Demons,” Rory insisted.  Bellamy set her down and managed to bundle her into her towel.  He threw Jacob’s to Clarke, and she did her best to dry his hair with it in one hand.

“What’s with the River Demon talk?” she asked.

“No idea.  Probably Miller’s idea of a fun bedtime story.  I’ve got her if you’ve got him,”  Bellamy said and started shooing Rory into her her bedroom.  Clarke crossed the hall to Jacob’s room, the dinosaur night light casting a green glow over his stuffed animals.  Getting a three year old into pajamas was a battle at the best of times, and on a night when his sister had gotten him wound up and excited about playing River Demons _(mental note: Miller and Monty are not allowed to babysit ever again)_ it was practically D-Day.  Not to mention the fact that Jacob had decided all of his stuffed animals had feelings, and that meant he and Clarke had to kiss each one good night.

That wouldn’t have been much of a hardship if he had a normal number of stuffed animals, but thanks to their idiot friends, Jacob had roughly four hundred.  And not only did they need a good night kiss, they had to be tucked into his bed before he would acquiesce to anything like sleep.  There was hardly room for him once that was complete, but finally he was settled in with his arm around Mr. Elephant and George, his twin giraffes.  Clarke kissed his forehead and passed Bellamy in the hall as she slipped into Rory’s room.

Her daughter was nowhere near ready to sleep, but Bellamy had somehow convinced her to at least be under the covers.  She squirmed and wriggled as Clarke sat down on the edge of her bed.  “I’m not tired,” she whined.  “And I’m older than Jacob, so my bedtime should be later.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Clarke said gently, brushing Rory’s dark curls off her forehead.  “When you start kindergarten in a few months, you get a later bedtime.  But not until then.”  Rory pouted, and Clarke kissed the tip of her nose.  

“Can you at least tell me a story?” Rory begged.

“Your dad didn’t?” Clarke asked suspiciously.

“Only one short one,” Rory said with big, puppy dog eyes.  That was probably a lie, but Clarke decided to choose her battles, and launched into one of Rory’s favorites, which was really just Harry Potter with Rory’s name inserted instead of Harry’s.  Bellamy was good at making up new stories for their kids, but Clarke mostly just plagiarized and hoped JK Rowling would understand.

Rory was still awake but considerably less squirmy when Clarke finished the (heavily abridged) version of _Sorcerer’s Stone_.  “Night, sweetheart,” she whispered and kissed Rory’s cheek.

Bellamy was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.  She collapsed into his arms and pressed her cheek against his chest, breathing him in for a few moments.  “How was your day?” she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt.

“About like what you just saw,” he said with his lips pressed to the crown of her head.  “You?”

“Only slightly less chaotic than that,” she whined.

There was a creak at the top of the stairs, and Clarke and Bellamy turned as one to find Rory standing there, shuffling her bare feet over one another in her bright purple nightgown.  “I need a drink of water,” she whispered.

“Go to bed, Rory,” Bellamy said instead.

“But I’m _thirsty,_ ” she whined.

“You have a water bottle in your room,” Clarke reminded her.

“But that water’s _warm._   I need _cold_ water.”

“There’s a cup in the bathroom,” Bellamy pointed out.  “And you’re a big girl now.  You can reach the sink.”

“I don’t want _bathroom_ water, I want _kitchen_ water,” she pouted.

“It’s the same water, babe,” Clarke responded.  “So you can have water from the bathroom sink or your water bottle, or no water at all.”

“Then can you tuck me in again?  I can’t sleep if I’m not tucked in.”

“I’ll be right up,” Bellamy said.  “Now go get in bed.”  He closed his eyes and kissed Clarke’s forehead.  “Why did we decide to have a third?  We’re going to be outnumbered,” he groaned.

She kissed his cheek and stepped out of his embrace.  “At least we still have a few months?”

“Daddy!  I’m ready!” Rory called from her room.

“At least we still have a few months,” Bellamy repeated, and with one last caress to her swollen belly, he headed back upstairs and back into battle.


	100. That Nagging Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by @alwaysdreamingofmiracles.

Something was wrong. **  
**

Clarke could feel it in her bones.  Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Something wrong, honey?” her mom asked, setting down her fork.

Clarke shook her head.  “I just feel weird, you know?  Like I’m…forgetting something.”

“Did you write your shifts down wrong for work, maybe?”

“No, I already called and double checked, because I thought it might be that.  It’s something else, you know?”  She chewed her last bite of lasagna and wracked her brain, but she couldn’t think of anything.  No birthdays coming up, no missed appointments, nothing.

“I get those feelings from time to time too.  I’m sure it’s nothing, or it’s just something small like you left the window open,” Abby said with a fond smile.

Clarke let it go and helped her mother with the dishes before tugging on her jacket and heading toward the train.  

She was waiting on the platform when she saw him, a man a few years older than her, standing maybe ten feet away.  He looked vaguely familiar but also out of place, and he was looking at her— staring at her, really— but when she looked back, he was gone.   _Probably needed a different train,_ she reasoned.

But then she started seeing him more often, and the more she looked at him, the stranger he seemed.  His clothes were in disarray, and his face was covered in bruises and cuts.  She saw him the next morning when she was waiting to cross the street, watching her from the opposite sidewalk, but by the time she was close enough to get a good look at him, he vanished.

The third time she saw him, she realized what was bothering her about her mystery maybe-stalker: his wounds weren’t healing.  Time was passing normally for her— work, home, drinks with Jasper, dinner with her mother— but for him, it seemed frozen.  He was always in the same tattered tan shirt, and the cut on his cheekbone stayed partially healed, never turning pink or fading.

Excellent.  She was being haunted.

And she still hadn’t gotten rid of that nagging feeling like something was wrong.

“I have a ghost,” she told Jasper when they meet for their weekly happy hour.  “This guy with curly brown hair.  I see him everywhere, and he always looks like he wants to say something, but then he disappears before I get close.”

Jasper wiggled his eyebrows.  “Spooky,” he teased.

“Shut up,” she said, and elbowed him in the ribs, laughing.

That night, her ghost showed up in her apartment.  “Clarke, come back,” he begged, standing at the foot of her bed.  She sat up, surprised, and he blinked out of existence.  Clarke frowned, fluffed her pillow, and laid back down.  She had to open the gallery the next morning and ghosts were not conducive to a good night’s sleep, so she put him firmly out of her mind until she drifted off.

She opened her eyes and realized with a start that she was no longer in the warm bed in her cozy apartment, but on a rickety cot in a damp cave.  She was paralyzed and her ghost knelt over her, his eyes terrified but his touch gentle.  “Clarke, can you hear me?” he begged, his voice rough.  His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb ran along her cheekbone in a soft caress.  “If you can hear me, please, remember your mission.  Remember why you went in there and come home, Clarke.  Please, come back.  You promised you’d come back.”

Clarke sat up, back in her bed, her heart pounding and her palms sweating.  It was a just a dream, right?  Except— it had felt real.  The calluses on his skin, the damp chill of the cave, the smell of rain outside, all of it had been _so real_.  And now that Clarke thought about it, she couldn’t ever remember having a nightmare before.  They didn’t have those anymore— that wasn’t part of the deal.

And then just like that, everything came back.

This reality, this life where her mother was happy and safe and Jasper didn’t hate her because she murdered the woman he loved, wasn’t real.  It was the City of Light, a trick by ALIE to keep Clarke from bringing her down.  She had a mission, and it wasn’t to have this life.  Bellamy was waiting for her, hundreds were counting on her, and there was a real world out there, full of pain and fear and hope.

Clarke climbed out of bed and threw on whatever clothes she could find.

She had a job to do.


End file.
